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IB  iT  M- 


®1)C  (Hljristian  Scl)olar: 

HIS  POSITION,  HIS  DANGERS,  AND  HIS  DUTIES. 


AN  ADDEESS 


PRONOUNCED    BEFORE 


THE  HOUSE  OF  CONVOCATION 


OP 


^rinitji  College, 

HARTFORD, 

"  AUGUST  Vth,  MDCCCXLVI. 


BY  THE  REV.  J.  WILLIAMS,  M.  A. 

RECTOR  OF  ST.  GEORGe's  CHURCH,  SCHENECTADY,  AND  A  JUNIOR  FELLOW 

OF  TRINITY  COLLEGE. 


PUBLISHED     BY     ORDER    OP    CONVOCATION. 


HARTFORD : 
WILLIAM   FAXON, 

C  ALEN  D  AR    PRESS. 
1846. 


•^*  It  may  be  proper  to  state,  that  this  was  the  first  Address  de- 
livered before  the  Convocation  of  Trinity  College.  The  Gradu- 
ates v^ere  incorporated  under  that  appellation  by  Statute  of  the 
Coqioration,  passed  August  the  6th,  1845. 


SRLP 
URL 

©rations,  ^bbrcsscs  aub  Pocmci, 

PRONOUNCED    BEFORE 

THE  ALUMNI  OF  TRINITY  COLLEGE. 


The  C'lssociation  of  tljc  Alumni  was  formed  Aug.  3d,  183L 


1832 


Samuel  Stark,  M.A. 
Park  Bexjamin,  M.A. 


Alfred  Hall,  M.A. 
Augustus  F.  Lyde,  M.A. 


1833. 


1834. 


Isaac  Hazlehurst,  M.A. 
John  W,  French,  B.A. 

Isaac  N.  Steele,  B.A. 
Ebenezer  C.  Bishop,  M.A. 


1835. 


1836. 
Rev.  E.  Edwards  Beardsley,  M.A. 
Clement  M.  Butler,  B.A. 


Oration. 
Poem,  (j?) 

Oration. 
Poem. 


Oration,  (p) 
Poem. 


Oration. 
Poem. 


Oration. 
Poem. 


1837. 
Tliere  was  no  Oration  or  Poem  this  rear, 


1838. 
Robert  Rantoul,  Jr.,  M.A. 
Willla.m  J.  IIamersley. 


Oration. 
Poem. 


2012333 


183  9 


Ohakles  Eames,  M.A. 

Oration. 

Rev.  John  "Williams,  M.A. 

Poem. 

1840. 

Joseph  H.  Thompson,  M.D. 

Oration,  {p) 

A.  Cleveland  Coxe,  13. A. 

Poem,  {j}) 

1841. 

Rev.  Horatio  PoriER,  D.D. 

Oration. 

Rev.  Joseph  II.  Clinch,  M.A. 

Poem,  {p) 

.     1842. 

Rev.  Joseph  H.  Nichols,  M.A. 

Poem,  {p) 

1843. 

Hun.  II.  G.  0.  Colby. 

Oration. 

Rev.  John  VV.  Brown,  M.A. 

Poem. 

1844. 

Rev.  James  A.  Bolles,  M.A. 
William  II.  Burleigh. 

1845. 

Rev.  John  Morgan,  M.A. 
Rev.  CiiARLi-a  W.  Everest,  M.A. 


Oration. 
Poem. 


Oration. 
Poem. 


1846. 
Rev.  Thomas  P.  Tyler,  M.A.  Poem,  {p) 

Tlie  Association  of  tlie  Alumni  was  dissolved  August 
r>tli,  1846,  and  the  fjouse  of  (JIoUDOCation  was  organized, 
under  a  statute  of  tlie  Corporation  passed  August  6tb.  1^4.'5. 

1846. 
Rkv.  John  Williams,  M.A.  Addrees,  {p) 


1847. 

Kov.  JoNA.  M.  Wainwright,  D.  D. 
Rev.  George  Burgess,  D.D. 

1848. 
Rev.  William  Croswell,  D.D. 
Hon.  Daniel  D.  Barnard,  LL.D. 

1849. 
Rt.  Rev.  T.  P.  K.  IIensiiaw,  D.D. 
Rev.  Ralph  Hoyt,  M.A. 

1850. 
Rev.  Francis  L.  Hawks,  D.D.,  LL.D. 

1851. 

Hon.  Levi  Woodbury,  LL.D. 
Rev.  E.  Edwards  Beardsley,  M.A. 

1852. 

Rev.  William  F.  Morgan,  M.A. 
Rev.  Clement  M.  Butler,  D.D. 


Address.  (^;) 
Poem.  {2>) 


Poem. 
Address,  (jy) 

Address. 
Poem.  {2>) 

Address. 


Address,  (jj) 
Hist,  Address.  (/>) 


Address,  (p) 
Poem. 


*^.*  Those  marked  (p)  have  been  printed. 


TO 

HIS    SURVIVING    CLASSMATES, 

AND 

TO    THE    MEMORY    OF    ONE    DEPARTED, 

THE    AUTHOR 

DEDICATES    THIS    ADDRESS. 


August,  1846. 


ADDPiESS. 


Mr.  Dean,  and  Gentlemen  of  Convocation  : 

It  seems  proper  that  the  first  words  of  him  who  on 
this  occasion  is  honoured  in  addressing  you,  should  be 
those  of  congratulation.  There  has  been,  as  we  trust, 
revived  among  us,  something  of  the  old  and  true  prin- 
ciple of  the  University.  Not  indeed  in  its  ancient  form, 
nor  in  precisely  the  ancient  mode  of  its  expression. 
For  it  may  and  often  does  chance,  that  a  principle  shall 
express  itself  in  diverse  outward  forms  in  different  ages, 
while  yet  in  itself  it  remains  unchanged.  Indeed  no  ex- 
ternal organisations  or  forms  within  which  principles  are 
enshrined, — save  only  those  which  being  of  divine 
appointment  are  adapted  to  every  age,  and  not  to  be 
changed  by  man, — can  be  expected  to  remain  precisely 
the  same,  generation  after  generation,  and  age  after  age. 
For  they  exist  in  a  world  whose  social  and  intellectual 
relations  are  continually  changing :  and  by  those  very 
changes,  demanding  corresponding  changes  in  those  ex- 
ternal modes  by  which  unchanging  princijiles  are  brought 
to  bear  and  do  their  work,  whether  on  individuals  or  on 
masses  of  our  race. 

To  have  attempted  then,  in  our  age  and  country, — 
even  had  we  possessed  the  means  of  doing  it, — to  revive 


those  venerable  academic  forms  and  organisations, 
wliicli  in  the  ages  when  they  spontaneously  sprung  up, 
were  adequate  expressions  of  real  feelings,  and  adequate 
supplies  of  real  wants,  would  have  been  utterly  unmean- 
ing. To  have  attempted, — supposing  again  the  means 
of  doing  so  within  reach, — to  have  attempted  to  copy, 
with  whatever  degree  of  accuracy,  the  present  polity  of 
foreign  Universities,  those  slow  accretions  of  many  ages, 
w  here  one  anomaly  corrects  another,  and  the  genius  loci 
transfuses  and  blends  together  an  otherwise  inharmonious 
W'hole,  would  have  been  even  more  absurd.  For  to 
what  would  it  all  have  amounted  ?  In  the  former  case 
you  would  have  had  the  merest  piece  of  antiquarian 
trifling,  with  no  more  of  reality  about  it,  than  children's 
play.  In  the  latter,  you  would  have  had  a  body  without 
a  soul,  a  cumbrous  machine  without  a  motive  power ; 
for  that  there  would  have  been  wanting  time  honored 
associations,  old  rights  and  privileges,  successions  of 
ancient  custom  and  wonted  honors  ;  and  more  than  all, 
succession  of  actual  life  from  age  to  age,  filling  and  per- 
vading, giving  meaning  and  reality,  power  and  operation, 
visible  working  and  glorious  result. 

Yet  while  this  is  so,  there  are  still  high  principles 
involved  in  the  true  being  of  a  University  or  a  College, 
which  may  express  themselves  very  differently,  in  differ- 
ent ages  and  countries,  while  they  themselves,  as  has 
been  said,  remain  unchanged.  One  of  these  principles, — 
and  that  one  of  the  noblest, — we  have  recognised,  and 
given  to  it  expression  and  outward  form  in  the  organisa- 
tion of  our  present  House  of  Convocation.  Another 
has  been  also  recognised,  and  has  found  expression  in 


the  giving  to  our  College  as  her  name  henceforward 
through  all  time,  the  thrice  sacred  name  of  the  most 
blessed  Trinity.  The  last  of  these  two  principles  may 
be  stated  in  a  few  words.  It  is  that  learning  is  the 
handmaid  of  the  Faith.  A  principle  which  in  such  a 
place  and  such  an  assemblage  as  this,  can  need  no  vindi- 
cation nor  elucidation.  The  first  principle  however  to 
which  allusion  has  just  now  been  made,  may  seem  to 
demand  a  few  more  words. 

There  are  in  the  world,  three  Associations  ordained 
of  God  himself,   all  harmonious,  though  distinct  ex- 
pressions  of   His  one  law  and  rule,  the  Family,  the 
State,  the  Church.     To  each  are  allotted  their  distinct 
offices,  and  on  men  as  memljers  of  each   are  devolved 
distinct  responsibilities.     Nay,  we  may  say, — not  there- 
by intending  to  assert  succession  of  existence,  or  to  deny 
that  the  Church  in  some  form  or  another  is  older  than 
the  Family,  being  even  from  the  beginning, — that  the 
world  was  trained  first  by  means  of  union  in  Families, 
and  next  by  means  of  union  in  States,  to  enter  in  the 
fulness  of  time  into  the  vast  and  awful  union  of  the 
Church  of  the  last  Dispensation.     A  union  which  com- 
prises within  itself,  though  it  does  not  absorb  into  itself, 
those  other  unions  which  preceded  it.     A  union  toward 
which  indefinite  longings,  and  vague  though  real  w  ants 
had  been  impelling  men  for  many  ages  before  it  came : 
and  which  they  had  endeavoured  to  iind  and  realise  in 
those  four  great  empires  of  the  ancient  world,  before  the 
visioned  image   of  whose  mysterious  majesty,  the  heart 
of  the  Babylonian  monarch  had  shrunk  away  in  terror. 
Now  to  these  associations  ordained  of  God,  men  have 


8 

from  time  to  time,  added  others  of  their  own.  In  doing 
so,  they  have  followed  the  line  of  the  divine  working : 
and  they  have  erred  and  failed,  not  when  they  have  held 
such  associations  as  subordinate  to  the  Family,  the  State, 
the  Church,  and  intended  only  to  aid  in  certain  points 
and  for  certain  purposes  the  work  of  each :  not  then,  I 
say,  have  they  erred  and  failed.  But  when,  as  we  be- 
hold in  our  time  under  various  names  and  in  various 
shapes,^  they  have  attempted  to  substitute  theirs  in  place 
of  those  of  God.  When  they  have  undertaken  not  to 
assist,  but  to  supplant :  not  reverently  to  aid,  but  ruth- 
lessly to  subvert,  and  on  the  ground  thus  cleared  to  erect 
a  fabric  of  their  own,  whose  top  shall  reach  the  heavens. 
Then,  even  as  those  four  old  empires  which  were  human 
substitutes  to  provide  for  longings  which  only  the  Al- 
mighty could  provide  for,  crumbled  and  decayed,  till 
gold  and  silver,  brass  and  iron,  and  clay  lay  mingled  in 
undistinguishable  ruin,  even  thus  will  after  substitutes, 
bear  they  w  hose  name  they  may,  vanish  before  the  stone 
cut  without  hands  and  destined  to  fill  the  earth. 

First  among  these  human  associations,  subordinate  and 
in  a  certain  sense  auxiliary  to  the  divine  ones,  and  the 
child  indeed  of  the  last  and  most  glorious,  stands  the 
University.  First  among  sonships  and  brotherhoods, 
other  than  those  of  the  Family  and  the  State,  and  the 
more  awful  ones  of  the  Church  to  which  these  others 
point  and  by  which  they  are  sanctified,  are  the  sonship 
which  binds  the  scholar  to  his  College  as  to  a  loving 
mother  ;  the  brotherhood  which  unites  him  to  all  those 
whom  the  same  mother  has  trained  for  the  solemn  work 

'Reference  is  made  to  the  schemea  of  Owen,  Fourier,  and  others. 


of  life  ;  making  herself  liercin  the  worthy  handmaid  of 
Family,  and  State  and  Church.  And  this  I  have  ven- 
liired  to  call  one  of  the  noblest  principles  involved  in  the 
true  being  of  a  University  or  a  College.  May  I  not 
even  call  it  the  essential  one  ?  That  which  lies  at  the 
very  foundation,  and  alone  gives  life  and  meaning  to 
either  the  one  or  the  other.  Nor  is  this  twofold  tic,  a 
transient  and  temporary  thing.  It  is,  it  must  be,  perma- 
nent. The  training  of  a  College  is  for  life.  And  as 
day  by  day  the  scholar  finds  that  training  brought  into 
use  and  action,  carried  on  and  developed  in  a  thousand 
unexpected  ways,  and  influencing  all  his  relations  in  all 
their  various  forms,  how  shall  it  be,  that  he  will  not 
recur  with  a  son's  reverence  and  love  to  her  who  gave  it 
to  him  ?  And  bound  up  inseparably  with  this  feeling, 
forming  indeed  a  part  of  it,  comes  also  the  feeling  of 
continuous  union  with  that  honoured  mother,  of  a  con- 
tinued sharing  in  her  joys  and  sorrows,  her  weal  and 
woe,  and  a  continued  brotherhood  inviting  to  earnestness 
and  effort,  with  all  her  other  sons.  And  this  permanent, 
this  abiding  tie,  is  recognised  and  expressed  in  the 
organisation  of  our  present  House  of  Convocation.  It 
is  the  very  offspring,  unless  I  am  much  in  error,  of  these 
feelings  and  convictions. 

In  this  organisation  then,  I  seem  to  find  the  recogni- 
tion of  the  permanent  and  holy  tie,  which  through  life 
and  wherever  his  lot  may  be,  binds  the  scholar  to  his 
College.  In  that  sacred  name  which  now  adorns  our 
College,  I  seem  to  hear  proclaimed  in  an  unfaithful  age, 
that  learninG:  is  tlie  handmaid  of  the  Faith.  In  these 
two  things  then,  let  me  find  the  subject  to  which  your 

2 


10 

thouslits  will  now  be  called :    The  Scholar  ;  the  Chris- 
tian  Scholar :  his  Position,  his  Dangers  and  his  Duties. 
To  attain  to  a  true  conception  of  the  position  of  the 
Christian  Scholar,  whether  in  our  own  age  or  in  any 
other,  I  must  ask  you  to  go  with  me  in  a  cursory  view 
of  that  wonderful  progress,  by  which  the  wisdom  of  the 
world  was  brought  into  subjection  to,  and  the  mind  of 
the  world  was  moulded  on,  the  philosophy  of  the  Cross. 
Could  we  suppose  the  vision  of  an  Apostle  or  a  Dis- 
ciple to  have  been  strengthened  and  extended,  as  during 
those  ten  days   of  "awful  pause  in  earth  and  heaven," 
he  stood  with  the  hundred  and  twenty  in  the  Holy  City ; 
could  wc  suppose  the  vision  of  such  an  one  to  have  been 
strenirthened  and  extended   till  it   could  embrace  the 
civilised  world,  what  a  spectacle,   viewing  that  world 
under  one  aspect  only,  would  it  have  beheld !     Around 
it  in  Jerusalem  was  to  be  seen  the  sacred  learning  with 
whatever  additions  and  distortions,  of  a  wondrous  peo- 
ple, and  a  far  reaching  age.     Throned   in  the  temple's 
courts,  and  deriving  a  more  solemn  and  imposing  dignity 
from  such  a  dwelling  place,  the  very  house   of  God, 
Judea's  learning  gathered  her  band  of  venerable  doctors, 
and  grounded  herself  upon  the  living  oracles  of  God's 
own  word.     Southward  and   to  the  east,  from  the  sol- 
emn remains  of  Egyptian   greatness,  to  the  caverned 
temples  of  India,  and  thence  to  the   Sarmatian  Gates, 
there  spreads  itself  under  various  forms  and  in  various 
developments  what  may  be  termed  the  Oriental  Philos- 
ophy.'    While  westward,  there  rise  up  the  Academy  and 

'U  is  not  intended  to  intimate  that  there  was  any  actual  definite  system, 
suchasMosheini  so  ingeniously  fancies;  but  the  general  spirit  of  contem- 
plation rather  than  reasoning,  Is  certainly  common  to  the  Eastern  Sages. 


11 

the  Lyceum,  the  Porch  and  the  Garden,  those  four 
mouths,  through  which  the  fourfold  Greek  philosophy, 
spoke  to  the  human  race  in  words  that  are  not  yet  for- 
gotten.^ Every  where  are  collected  crowds  of  sages 
grown  grey  in  solitary  thought  or  learned  converse, 
every  where  are  there  stores  of  written  wisdom,  the  slow 
accumulations  of  successive  years,  and  all  of  pomp  and 
pride  and  mystery,  with  which  learning  can  be  sur- 
rounded. It  is  indeed  a  glorious  sight,  this  mass  of  mind 
thus  living  and  at  work.  For  let  us  not  take  too  cir- 
cumscribed a  view  of  it.  It  expressed  and  as  it  were 
wrote  itself  out,  not  merely  in  the  poem  or  the  history, 
the  stirring  oration  or  the  profound  speculation  in  phi- 
losophy :  but  it  had  issued  also  for  untold  years,  in  the 
massive  and  magnificent  porticoes  of  Egypt,  in  the  stu- 
pendous excavations  of  the  Indian  mountains,  in  the 
solid  and  enduring  arches  and  aqueducts  of  Rome,  and 
in  those  highest  developments  of  merely  human  thoughts, 
the  graceful  orders  of  the  threefold  architecture  of  inven- 
tive Greece.  It  showed  itself  also  to  men's  eyes  in  all 
the  sensuous  beauties  framed  on  earthly  types,  of  Grecian 
art ;  and  spoke  in  their  ears  in  the  stern  tones  of  Roman 
law,  which  like  the  art  of  Greece  was  waiting  for  a 
heavenly  spark,  to  raise  it  to  the  fulness  of  its  life. 

Such  was  the  world's  mind  in  all  its  majesty  and 
glory,  shrined  and  throned  in  earth's  most  lofty  places ; 
and  thus  stood  the  philosophy  of  the  Cross  in  its  relations 
to  it ;  confided  to  the  trust  of  twelve  men,  whose  library 
and  school  and  porch  and  garden,  was  a  little  upper 

^Sec  Gibbon's  masterly  sketch  ;  Decline  and  Fall,  Vol.  III.  p.  52,  Amer. 
Edit. 


12 

chamber  somewhere  in  Jerusalem.     Yet  after  all,  we 
shall  not  attain  a  correct  view  of  these  relations,  without 
remembering  how  in  God's  providence  things  had  been 
working  so  as  to  advance  the  progress  of  the  Church  to 
the  dominion  of  human  intellect.     About  three  hundred 
years  before  the  Christian  era,  Palestine  and  the  regions 
round  about  by  becoming  Greek,  became  also  European ; 
and  then  in  order  of  time  there  followed  a  series  of 
events,  which  mysterious  as  they  must  have  been  to  those 
who  lived  during  their  occurrence,  are  to  us  full  of 
meaning,  and  point  directly  to  the  triumphs  of  the  Cross. 
Under   Ptolemy  jPhiladelphus  the  Hebrew  Scriptures 
were  translated  into  Greek ;  and  treasures   of  learning 
were  gathered  in  Alexandria  which  drew  together  learn- 
ed men  from  every  quarter  of  the  world,  forming  for  a 
century  the  great  centre  of  study  and  scholarship.     At 
the  end  of  this  period,  just  when  in  consequence  of  the 
long  wars  of  the  successors  of  Alexander,  learning  had 
declined  throughout  the  greater  portion  of  the  Macedo- 
nian Empire,  the  cruelties  of  one  of  Ptolemy's  succes- 
sors,^ drove  the  Alexandrian  scholars  from  his  city  and 
scattered  them  among  the  nations.     Under  Antiochus, 
tlie  tlien  true  religion,   was  almost  merged  in  Greek 
Polytheism,  but  with  the  aid  of  the  A'smonean  princes  it 
rose  into  new  strength  and  developed  itself  afresh  :  "  so 
that  while  the   Greek  mind  was  spread  throughout  the 
East,  tiie  Jewish  mind  was  spread  throughout  it  too  ; 
and  from  their  interpenetration  arose  a  diffused  prepara- 
tion for  the  Faith."     While  very  soon,  the  rising  empire 

iPiolnmy  Physcon.     See  Prideaux's  Connexions,  Vol.   II.   p.   276, 
Tegg'a  Edit. 


13 

of  Rome, — sublime  sliadow  of  a  heavenly  reality, — 
received  within  itself  the  East,  and  pushed  itself  even  to 
the  shores  of  the  Atlantic  ;  thus  connecting  by  its  mighty 
bonds  the  ancient  plains  of  Babylon  with  "  Britain 
divided  from  the  world. "^  Through  sucli  immediate 
preparation  had  the  world  passed,  and  so  as  I  have 
briefly  described  it,  stood  its  learning,  philosophy,  and 
art,  in  rehition  to  the  Church  and  the  philosophy  of  the 
Cross,  at  the  moment  when  we  have  fancied  an  Apostle 
looking  out  on  all  these  things. 

And  now  for  a  brief  period  there  was  a  pause  and  silence. 
Such  a  silence  on  either  side  as  there  must  have  been, — 
for  the  comparison  can  hardly  fail  to  suggest  itself, — 
w  hen  the  Lord  Himself  in  all  the  apparent  weakness  of 
His  early  youth,  stood  in  the  presence  of  the  hoary  doc- 
tors in  the  temple  :  they  wondering  at  His  temerity.  He 
resting  in  His  Divinity.  So  stood  the  infant  Church 
amid  the  systems  and  the  learning  of  the  world.  But 
the  pause  was  a  brief  one  ;  deep  and  solemn  while  it 
lasted,  but  brief.  For  time  was  precious,  and  the  battle 
fierce  :  and  so  in  all  apparent  weakness,  and  arrayed  in 
weeds  unmeet  as  men  would  say  for  the  attire  of  divine 
philosophy,  she  went  forth  to  claim  to  herself  the  wis- 
dom, to  grasp  and  mould  for  herself  the  minds  of  men. 
The  struggle  was  an  arduous  one,  but  the  triumph  was 
complete.  We  may  not  say  that  it  was  the  noblest  of 
the  triumphs  of  the  Faith ;  for  these  are  tears  of  penitence, 
and  lives  of  holiness.  Still  it  was  a  noble  triumph,  and 
it  is  written  on  an  immortal  page,  even  the  souls  of  men. 

To  trace  it  step  by  step,  would  be  impossible  here  and 

^See  the  Christian  Remembrancer  for  April,  1845,  p.  331. 


14 

now,  nor  is  it  needful.  It  was  a  triumphant  progress  in 
wiiicli  the  Ciiurch  went  forth,  when  she  conquered  and 
brought  under  her  own  sway  the  fields  of  learning,  phi- 
losophy and  art.  Yet  unlike  the  progress  of  conquering 
men,  it  was  not  devastation  but  new  life  that  marked  her 
way.  She  came  to  the  Academy  and  the  Lyceum,  the 
Porch  and  Garden,  and  gave  a  living  kernel  to  the  husks 
and  shells  she  found  there,  and  woke  to  life  many  a  form 
ol  truth  which  had  been  standing  moveless  and  isolated, 
like  a  marble  statue  ;  while  in  place  of  these  four  homes 
of  learning,  there  sprung  up  Schools  and  Universities 
almost  without  number.  Amid  the  ruins  of  Memphis 
and  of  Heliopolis,  she  made  the  spirit  of  contemplation 
long-wasted  and  preying  in  itself,  to  issue  in  the  lofty 
tones,  ever  lofty  if  not  always  truly  regulated,  of  the 
Fathers  of  the  Desert.  She  gave  the  Historian  the  clue, 
by  which  he  could  trace  out  the  tangled  web  of  the 
world's  story,  and  read  understandingly  that  wondrous 
course  of  ages,  never  before  comprehended.  She 
brought  a  nobler  strain  to  the  poet's  lyre,  and  touched  his 
eyes  to  see  and  his  tongue  to  speak,  deeper  things  in 
nature  and  in  man,  than  men  had  dreamed  before.  She 
came  to  the  Grecian  Temple,  and  the  Roman  Basilic, 
and  there  arose  in  their  places  edifices  more  vast  and 
of  a  rarer  beauty,  towering  towards  the  heavens,  and 
preaching  not  men's  thoughts  of  truth  and  beauty,  but 
tiiose  eternal  archetypes  of  both,  on  which  Creation  has 
been  framed.  She  took  the  painter's  and  the  sculptor's 
hand,  and  instead  of  sensuous  earthly  forms  on  which  the 
eye  could  scarcely  look  witiiout  defdement  to  the  soul, 
there  burst  upon  men's  sight  severe  unearthly  beauties, 


16 

holy  and  super-human  grace,  sources  of  tlic  purest 
emotions  and  most  sacred  thouglus.  Slie  touched  the 
unformed  indigested  mass  of  Roman  Law/  and  there 
issued  from  it,  the  Code,  the  Pandects  and  the  Institutes, 
immortal  works  which  tell  at  this  very  hour  on  all  the 
civilised  nations  of  the  earth.  But  not  to  enter  into 
more  detail,  where  full  detail  is  impossible,  let  it  suffice 
to  say,  that  this  triumph  of  the  Church  and  her  divine 
philosophy,  absorbing  "  all  the  keenness,  the  originality, 
the  energy  and  the  eloquence"  of  man,  is  witnessed  to, 
and  recorded  in  the  Architecture,  the  Sculpture,  the 
Painting,  and  above  all  in  the  Libraries  of  Christendom. 
As  one  has  well  and  eloquently  said  :  "  to  see  the  tri- 
umph of  tlie  Faith  over  the  world's  wisdom,  we  must 
enter  those  solemn  cemeteries,  in  which  are  stored  the 
relics  and  the  monuments  of  Faith, — the  great  libraries 
of  the  world.  Look  along  their  shelves,  and  almost 
every  name  you  read  there,  is  in  one  sense  or  another,  a 
trophy  set  up  in  record  of  the  victories  of  Faith.  How 
many  long  lives,  what  high  aims,  what  single  minded 
devotion,  what  intense  contemplation,  what  fervent 
prayer,  what  untiring  diligence,  what  toilsome  conflicts 
has  it  taken  to  establish  this  supremacy."  And  all  this 
glorious  mass  of  living  thouglit,  speaking  in  written 
words  or  forms  of  art,  widening  in  endless  circles,  sweep- 
ing outward  for  eighteen  hundred  years,  and  swee})in"^ 
outward  still,  has  for  its  centre  and  its  source,  the  Holy 
Word  of  God. 

Now  this  view,  brief  and  meagre  as  it  is,  may  serve 
to  show  us  what  is  the  true  position  of  even  the  humblest 

*See  Gibbon's  own  admission. 


16 

Christian  Scholar.  In  very  deed  lie  is  a  "  citizen  of  no 
mean  city."  He  is  one  in  a  brotherhood,  second  only 
to  that  A\  liich  is  the  iLillilment  of  all,  and  toward  which 
all  others  tend. 

Grant  that  his  place  may  be  obscure,  his  sphere  of 
action  limited.  Yet  he  has  a  place,  he  has  a  sphere,  and 
in  them  he  has  a  work  to  do,  a  holy  mission  to  fulfill. 
No  man  can  live  on  earth — unless,  that  is,  he  utterly 
withdraws  himself  from  other  men,  and  makes  himself 
what  God  never  meant  he  should  be,  an  isolated  being, 
— without  in  some  way,  generally  in  far  more  ways 
than  he  can  know  or  fancy,  coming  in  contact  with  the 
minds  of  other  men.  And  that  not  casually  now  and 
then,  but  habitually  and  continually.  However  few  in 
number  then  these  minds  may  be,  and  however  humble 
in  position,  yet  minds  they  are,  and  they  form  an  immor- 
tal page  on  which  the  Christian  Scholar  may  inscribe 
truths  that  shall  live  and  work  throughout  eternity.  For 
in  this  respect  the  world  of  learning,  is  as  the  world  of 
nature.  And  as  in  the  latter  we  see  not  only  mighty 
floods  rolling;  on  for  immense  distances  and  throuo-h 
widely  spreading  valleys,  but  find  on  more  attentive  ob- 
servation, that  many  unknown  streams  and  fountains, 
each  in  its  own  secluded  nook,  doing  its  office  and  ad- 
ding its  portion,  have  gone  to  swell  those  floods  ;  even  so 
is  it  in  the  former,  when  there  we  look  more  intently 
and  with  a  deeper  observation.  For  look  at  the  body  of 
the  learning  of  Christendom,  not  as  a  sluggish,  inert, 
lifeless  mass,  but  as  living,  moving,  acting :  bearing  in 
some  sense  the  relation  to  the  human  mind,  which  the 
water  docs  to  the  solid  parts  of  our  globe,  embracing 


17 

nntl  permeating  it ;  and  then  you  shall  see  clearly  and  at 
once  how  this  is  so.  For  consider  some  great  mind,  as 
it  floats  down  from  age  to  age  in  ever  increasing  grand- 
eur, bearing  with  it  a  body  of  collected  thought  and  truth, 
which  leaves  a  leaven  and  a  life-giving  nourishment,  in 
all  the  intellectual  region  through  which  it  goes.  Look 
carefully  at  it  and  long,  not  suffering  your  eye  to  be  car- 
ried onward  with  the  sweep  of  the  great  flood,  so  that 
you  cannot  pause  along  its  shores,  and  you  will  see  how 
many  other  minds  have  added  their  part,  and  unknown, 
unnamed  have  helped  to  swell  the  stream,  which  bears 
the  name  of  that  master  spirit  who  sent  it  forth,  and 
seems  evermore  to  ride  upon  its  waves.  Nay,  there  are 
many  streams  of  truth  that  have  gone  forth  from  un- 
known fountains,  from  minds  that  have  seeminiily  dwelt 
apart  from  all  intercourse  of  men,  and  all  communion 
with  their  age. 

If  I  might  venture  on  another  illustration,  1  would 
find  it  in  those  old  Cathedrals  which  bear  the  name  of 
some  one  ruling  mind  which  has  finally  given  them 
luiity  and  completeness ;  while  yet  many  minds  have 
been  exercised,  and  many  hands  have  wrought,  and  one 
has  added  a  shaft,  and  another  a  capital,  and  others 
various  carvings,  all  needful  to  the  completeness  of  the 
whole  stupendous  ])lan.  So  that  did  anc  or  could  we 
see  the  reality  of  things,  not  one  name  only  would  be 
inscribed  upon  the  mighty  pile,  but  countless  names 
written  on  every  part,  would  bear  witness  to  the  mass 
of  intellect  and  thought  which  had  developed  itself  in 
that  vast,  glorious  whole.  Consider  in  like  manner 
some  one  great  work  of  learning,  let  it  be  in  what  de- 


18 

partment  you  may  choose,  which  bears,  and  bears  right- 
ly, his  name  who  lias  given  it  form  and,  in  one  sense, 
being.  Remember  how  many  tliouglits  and  truths  have 
gone  to  its  composition  :  not  merely  how  many  authori- 
ties have  been  directly  consulted,  but  how  much  derived 
from  intercourse  with  others,  how  many  floating  things 
embodied  whose  origin  is  not  known  ;  and  you  will  see, 
that  though  the  work  is  truly  his  whose  name  it  bears, 
still  upon  all  its  pages  might  be  written  other  names, 
some  kno\An  and  some  unknown,  who  have  directly  or 
indirectly,  taught,  or  suggested,  or  contributed,  in  some 
way  or  another.  And  when  you  carry  on  your  view, 
remembering  all  this,  from  one  work,  to  the  great  body 
of  Christian  learning,  into  which  in  the  way  just  now 
briefly  sketched,  the  world's  mind  has  issued,  how  count- 
less shall  seem  the  numbers  who  have  brought  their  parts. 
As  in  long  and  shadowy  procession  they  return  before 
our  fancy's  eye,  one  bringing  the  solid  squared  founda- 
tion stone,  another  the  strong  pillar,  another  the  graceful 
ornament,  each  his  own  portion  diverse  from  the  other, 
we  see  amongst  them  not  merely  those  whose  forms  we 
recognise  and  whose  names  we  speak,  but  many  who 
come  humbly  and  in  silence,  content  to  bring  their  offer- 
ing, and  asking  no  higher  honor  than  to  be  unknown 
workmen  ;  and  then  we  learn  who  and  what  they  are 
who  have  reared  the  vast  temple  of  the  learning  and  the 
literature  of  Christendom.  Then  we  learn  his  true 
position  who  is,  even  in  the  smallest,  humblest,  most 
obscure  way,  a  sharer  in  perpetuating,  carrying  on,  and 
working  out,  this  triumph  of  the  Faith.  For  that  if  he 
be  only  in  the  lowest  form,  if  he  have  the  fewest  minds 


19 

to  work  upon,  the  fewest  triitlis  and  tlioiiijhts  to  give  to 
otiiers,  still  lie  is  adding  something  to  the  mass  of  living 
thought,  w  hich  will  outlive  him,  and  tell  upon  the  minds 
of  men  forever.  As  an  unseen  bell  struck  in  the  air  sends 
infinite  vibrations  round ;  as  an  unseen  blow  upon  the 
water  sends  widening  circles  over  all  the  surface,  so  his 
words,  if  he  speaks,  shall  move  the  intellectual  atmos- 
phere ;  so  the  impression  he  makes  in  any  way  shall  send 
a  sweeping  widening  motion  through  the  world  of  mind. 
Wherefore  from  all  these  things  we  conclude,  that,  the 
lowliest  Christian  Scholar  has  a  lofty  station  ;  that  he 
should  not  under-estimate  his  position,  even  while  he 
takes,  as  if  he  be  truly  wise  he  will  take,  the  most  modest 
estimation  of  himself;  and  that  that  position  is  second 
only  to  the  standing  of  the  Hero-Saint. 

But  on  a  high  position,  two  things  ever  wait :  great 
dangers,  and  lofty  duties.  Let  me  now,  then,  turn  in 
accordance  with  the  plan  proposed  in  the  beginning,  to 
speak  of  these  two  things. 

The  Scholar's  dangers,  like  those  of  any  other  class 
of  men,  range  themselves  in  two  distinct  groups.  Those 
that  are  necessary  and  nniversal :  and  those  which  are 
peculiar  to  a  generation  or  an  age,  and  so  pass  away  with 
such  an  age  or  generation,  to  be  succeeded  by  others, 
more  or  less  formidable  as  it  may  chance.  For  without 
dangers  may  the  Scholar  never  be,  else  could  he  never 
be  proved  and  tried. 

Now  perhaps  of  all  dangers,  the  most  imminent  here 
as  well  as  elsewhere,  is  the  danger  of  self-deception. 
Indeed,  it  may  be  fairly  (juestioned  whether  this  be  not 
the  essential  element  in  all  ;  whether  as  error  of  some 


20 

kind  or  another  is  the  developed  danger,  so  it  may  not 
be  that  self-deception  lies  at  the  very  foundation  of  the 
whole  matter.  Be  this  however,  as  it  may,  and  it  cer- 
tainly is  a  point  which  may  well  deserve  the  most  atten- 
tive consideration  on  the  part  of  individuals,  still  I  repeat 
it,  self-deception  is  an  imminent  danger  attendant  on  the 
position  of  the  Christian  Scholar.  Self-deception,  not 
as  to  his  own  character,  not  as  to  his  own  spiritual  pro- 
gress, for  that  belongs  to  another  and  a  higher  phase  of 
his  being ;  but  as  to  his  proper  duty,  his  intellectual 
attainments,  and  in  a  word  all  his  relations  as  a  Scholar. 

Let  us  look  at  one  or  two  of  the  points  of  which  what 
lias  been  said  holds  good.  Points  which  may  be  sugges- 
tive of  others, — for  suggestion  is  all  that  one  can  hope  to 
accomplish  in  a  matter,  to  treat  of  which  fully,  might 
occupy  volumes.  Points,  too,  whicli  may  illustrate 
what  has  just  been  advanced,  and  show  that  to  speak 
of  the  dangers  of  the  Scholar,  is  not  to  exhibit  a  morbid 
timorousness,  but  to  take  a  right  and  honest  view  of 
actual  things. 

Let  us  take,  then,  the  ever  present,  ever  pressing  dan- 
ger— which  runs  itself  out  into  so  many  forms,  and  in 
such  various  ways — that  the  Scholar  will  utterly  mistake 
his  situation,  his  duties,  his  proper  work.  That  he  will 
look  upon  himself  as  an  isolated  person,  with  few  or  no 
relations  to,  and  connexions  with  other  men  ;  that  he 
will  consider  his  duties  all  to  lie  within  the  round  of  hiis 
own  study,  whence  no  voice  need  issue,  no  written 
words  be  sent  declaring  the  truth,  which  he  may  indeed 
have  found,  but  which  he  selfishly  appropriates  ;  that  he 
will  regard  his  work  as  all  comprised  in  acquiring  for 


21 

himself,  ill  storing  his  own  mind,  and  })laying  certainly 
in  a  rather  more  dignified  way,  the  part  of  the  grasping 
miser.  Now  there  are  infinite  varieties  of  this  character, 
each  with  its  own  nice  shades  and  distinctive  marks, 
from  the  really  hard-working  man  who  toils  and  moils 
on  through  life,  touching  no  other  mind  because  he  with- 
draws from  all,  and  makes  himself,  utterly  isolated  and 
alone  ;  down  to  the  literary  lounger,  whose  selfishness 
and  self-deception,  run  out  in  another  and  yet  a  very 
similar  channel.  Yet  infinitely  various  as  these  charac- 
ters are,  none  of  them  are,  none  of  them  can  be,  respect- 
able. The  best  we  can  but  pity,  the  worst  we  must 
despise.  And  still  a  man  may  begin  his  way  as  a  true 
Scholar,  a  Christian  Scholar,  and  by  yielding  to  this 
self-deception,  degenerate  from  one  of  these  states  of 
character  to  another,  until  he  who  in  the  outset  stood  on 
such  glorious  vantage  ground,  and  moved  amid  such 
companionships,  may  end  his  days,  the  literary  trifler, 
the  wretched,  despicable  dilettante  :  no  longer  sitting  in 
honor  and  worth  at  the  counsels  of  his  Sovereign,  but 
become  a  miserable  eunuch  of  the  Palace. 

Or  even  if  things  shall  not  reach  this  pass,  still  self- 
deception  as  to  what  his  real  work  should  be,  may  ren- 
der his  labors  next  to  useless,  and  make  him  feel,  at 
last,  that  his  life  has  been  as  good  as  thrown  away. 
For  the  Scholar  must  work  for  the  age  in  which  he  lives, 
if  he  will  work  to  any  purpose.  I  do  not  say  that  he 
must  work  loitk  his  age  ;  that  depends  upon  a\  liether  his 
age  is  working  rightly  or  no,  but  that  he  must  work /or  it. 
That  is,  that  the  bent  of  his  pursuits,  the  course  of  his 
labors,  the  turn  of  his  studies,   must  be  determined  by 


22 

the  intellectual  and  moral  wants  of  the  time  and  the  peo- 
ple in  and  amongst  which  his  lot  is  cast.  That  his  own 
mere  tastes,  or  fancies,  are  not  alone  to  be  constdted ; 
that  indeed  to  many  fair  and  delightful  walks  of  learning 
it  may  become  his  bounden  duty  resolutely  to  close  his 
eyes,  and  from  them  to  turn  his  steps ;  not  certainly  as 
undervaluing  any  :  not  as  if  he  did  not  allow  to  each  its 
proper  place  and  dignity,  as  forming  a  part  of  what  is 
all  divine  ;  but  as  knowing  that  here  as  well  as  else- 
where, there  are  opportunities  for  self-denial  and  self- 
sacrilice.  As  knowing  that  in  learning  as  well  as  life, 
the  finger  of  God  directs,  the  voice  of  conscience  orders, 
and  that  both  must  be  obeyed.  To  recur  to  an  illustra- 
tion which  has  been  used  before ;  as  it  is  with  the  pro- 
gress of  some  vast  architectural  erection,  so  is  it  in  this 
matter.  It  is  vain,  it  is  worse  than  vain,  when  it  is 
time  to  lay  the  foundation  deep  and  strong,  to  be  en- 
deavouring to  pile  the  graceful  pinnacle  or  rear  the 
slender  shaft,  or  swing  the  vaulted  roof.  It  is  vain,  it  is 
worse  than  vain,  when  it  is  time  to  strengthen  with  the 
firm  buttress  weak  and  trembling  walls,  to  attempt  to 
carry  round  those  walls,  unstrengthened  and  unsustained, 
the  light  and  carved  parapet,  or  to  rear  upon  them  the 
lofty  spire.  There  is  a  time  for  all  these  various  works  ; 
but  to  attempt  to  do  them  out  of  time  is  loss  of  labor, 
and  a  hindcrance  to  the  progress  of  the  plan.  So  in  all 
learning.  Each  age  has  its  work,  clearly  laid  upon  it, 
distinctly  pointed  out:  and  the  danger  is  not  small,  nay, 
rather  it  is  great,  that  the  Scholar  will  choose  his  own 
work  rather  than  that  which  is  laid  before  him,  and 
therefore  fail  and  fall :  saying  at  last,  when  self-decep- 
tion ends,  not  I  have  lost  a  day,  but  I  have  lost  my  life. 


23 

These  two  forms  of  sclf-dcccption  on  which  we  have 
now  been  dwelling,  have  not  been  selected  as  being  by 
any  means  the  most  obvious  ;  though  certainly  they  may 
well  be  considered  as  among  the  most  dangerous. 
Rather  it  seemed  desirable  that  when  suggestion  was  all 
which  could  possibly  be  accomplished,  more  recondite 
and  subtle  forms  should  be  selected  :  as  thereby  we 
might  perhaps  be  brought  to  feel  how  wide  reaching, 
and  of  what  far  extent  the  danger  was.  That  it  runs 
itself  out,  not  only  in  what  one  so  often  sees,  and  can- 
not but  sec  to  mourn,  in  the  substitution  of  temporary 
and  selfish  ends,  personal  trium})lis,  or  the  achievement 
of  a  brilliant  reputation,  instead  of  the  advancement  of 
eternal  and  unchanging  truth  ;  iu  the  propagation  of 
error  ;  in  irreverent  assumption  or  unscholarlike  arro- 
gance ;  that  not  in  these  high  obvious  forms  of  ill  alone 
it  finds  its  issue  ;  but  in  others,  also,  deeper  and  more 
liidden,  and  therefore  it  may  be,  all  the  more  dangerous. 
Let  these  suggestions  and  these  instances,  serve  then,  to 
illustrate  that  one,  great,  overwhelming  danger,  to  which 
at  all  times  and  in  every  age  the  Scholar  is  exposed ; 
and  against  which  every  man  who  would  not  fail  of  run- 
ning lawfully,  and  therefore  lose  his  crown,  is  bound 
most  earnestly,  most  hcedfully  to  guard  himself.  And  let 
us  no\v  pass  to  a  few  thoughts  upon  other  dangers,  which 
as  I  have  said  are  not  universal,  but  belong  to  peculiar 
eras,  being  themselves  peculiar  and  diverse. 

A  popular  writer  has  said,  that  while  in  any  situation 
whatever,  high  or  low,  marked  or  obscure,  it  is  a  compar- 
atively easy  thing  to  be  a  man  o/^  one's  age,  to  be  a  man 
for  one's  age,  is  ({uite  another,  and  a  much  more  diflicult 


24 

matter.  It  is  ah^'ays  easy  to  swim  with  the  cunent ;  to 
go  ^^•hithcr  what  is  called  the  spirit  of  the  age  will  carry 
one.  And  surely  if  that  spirit  is  a  right  and  true  one, 
and  flowing  onward  toward  such  a  point  as  one  should 
wish  to  reach,  it  is  wise  and  well  to  go  with  it.  But 
how  often  is  this  not  the  case  ;  nay,  how  often  is  the 
precise  contrary  the  fact.  And  therefore  while  it  is  a 
morbid  and  unhealthy  feeling  which  concludes  that  the 
animatinii-  spirit  of  any  age  is  always  of  necessity  wrong 
and  evil ;  it  is  quite  as  morbid  and  quite  as  unhealthy  a 
one,  only  in  another  way,  which, — misinterpreting  the 
sentence,  divine  when  truly  understood,  that  speaks  of 
the  people's  voice,  meaning  the  real  utterances  of  human- 
ity, as  being  instinct  with  divinity, — concludes  that  the 
course  of  the  aire  is  alwavs  rie;ht.  That  the  Scholar 
may  not  sometimes  be  called  by  every  duty,  and  every 
responsibily  to  set  himself  in  opposition  to  it,  to  denounce 
it,  to  make  it  anathema,  to  struggle  manfully  against  its 
current,  even  to  his  own  overwhelming  and  destruction. 

It  follows  then,  that  the  tendencies  of  any  age  may 
be  evil ;  it  is  fair  and  wise  to  believe  that  there  will  al- 
ways be  evil  ones  among  them  :  for  surely  he  must  be  a 
most  unshaken  optimist  who  can  think  otherwise  ;  these 
evil  tendencies  bring  dangers  as  to  other  men,  so  es- 
pecially to  the  Scholar ;  and  these  dangers  are  those 
which  I  have  called  the  dangers  of  an  era,  in  contradis- 
tinction from  those  which  attach  to  every  possible  epoch 
of  the  history  of  man. 

As  a  further  illustration  of  these  positions,  let  us  con- 
sider a  twofold  danger, — for  dangers  are  mostly  twofold 
in    their  character, — which  attaches  to  our  age ;  and 


25 

which  presents  a  ])roblcin  that  the  Schohir  must  solve, 
thoughtfully  and  carefully  unless  he  be  w  illing  to  go  on 
at  random,  in  which  case  he  does  not  deserve  his  apella- 
tion.  The  danger  is,  that  he  will  on  the  one  hand  give 
nothing,  or  on  the  other  everything  to  the  past :  and  the 
problem  to  be  decided  is,  of  course,  precisely  how  much 
should  be  given  to  it.  The  danger  on  the  one  hand  is 
certainly  very  clear  and  obvious.  Self  distrust,  distrust 
of  the  present,  reverent  turning  to  catch  the  voices  of 
other  days  as  they  float  solemnly  down  the  course  of 
ages,  these  are  obviously  not  so  charactcristical  of  our 
age  and  country  as  to  warrant  any  great  anxiety  that 
the  claims  of  the  present  on  our  regard  will  be  lightly 
cast  aside.  A  superficial  and  encyclopedic,  and  review- 
ing age,  is  always  self  confident.  And  a  self  confident 
age,  is  of  course  in  its  relations  to  the  past  always 
in  danger  of  going  to  the  extreme  of  forgetfulness : 
which  forgetfulness  it  finds  it  easy  to  account  for,  by 
various  theories  of  progress,  or  development,  or  what- 
ever men  may  choose  to  call  them.  Indeed  it  has  gen- 
erally seemed  enough, — so  pressing  has  this  danger  been 
considered,  so  imminent  in  truth  has  it  really  been, — 
it  has  generally  been  considered  quite  sufficient  to  con- 
demn it  in  general  terms.  Nor  has  it  seemed  a  matter  of 
importance  how  general  those  terms  were,  provided 
only  that  they  were  sufficiently  strong  and  startling. 

But  is  there  not  a  danger  too  on  the  other  hand  ?  I 
do  not  mean  a  danger  that  we  shall  reverence  and  es- 
teem the  past  too  much,  for  if  the  past  be  rightly  es- 
timated that  can  scarcely  be  ;  but  that  we  shall  fall  into 
an  unreal,  untrue,  dreamy  way  of  looking  at  the  past 


26 

itself,  and  tlicrcfore  incur  tlie  evil  when  we  least  expect 
it.  There  certainly  is  such  a  thing  as  the  mere  blind 
worship  of  the  formal  past :  there  is  such  a  thing  as 
attempting  to  force  over  the  body  of  some  living,  un- 
changing, eternal  principle  of  truth,  some  antiquated 
guise  which  it  does  not  need  to  wear,  to  throw  around 
it  old  externals,  which  are  not  of  the  essence  of  its 
being.  And  this  is  playing  at  scholarship  and  learning  ; 
this  is  unreal,  hollow  and  untrue,  a  mimic  pageantry,  a 
soulless  mascjueradc.  I  trust  that  I  may  not  be  misun- 
derstood. 1  do  not  speak  of  divine  institutions  but  of 
human  ones,  or  of  human  applications  of  those  that 
are  divine.  I  am  not  advocating  the  doctrines  of  that 
wretched  pantheistic  view  of  human  history,  which 
makes  the  highest  and  the  holiest  things  that  God  has 
given  men,  but  mere  ideas,  to  be  developed  by  the  exer- 
cise of  human  intellect,  into  something  or  into  nothing  ; 
which  makes  succeeding  ages  to  create  new  principles 
which  former  ages  had  not ;  and  declares  that  change  in 
essence  and  not  change  in  form,  of  truth,  is  the  law 
which  regulates  the  course  of  time.  All  this  is  one 
thing.  But  to  say  that  principles  arc  few  and  truth  is 
one  ;  and  that  the  Scholar  must  beware  lest  in  avoiding 
the  extreme  of  not  finding  these  principles  and  that 
truth,  living  and  working  in  most  instructive  wase  in  all 
at  least  of  the  Christian  past,  he  shall  fall  into  another 
quite  as  evil,  of  mistaking  their  external  garb,  their  out- 
ward expressions  for  the  things  themselves,  what  has  this 
to  do  with  that  hardy  spirit  which  changes  at  will  the  in- 
stitutions of  our  Goi)  ?  With  that  pantheistic  philosophy 
which  confounds  substance  and  accident,  essence  and 


27 

form,  spirit  and  matter,  God  and  man  ?  What  is  this 
more  tlian  to  say,  that  we  must  not  mistake  the  body  of 
the  boy,  or  of  the  grown  up  man,  or  of  the  saint  per- 
fected, for  that  undying  soul,  which  gives  to  each  its  all 
of  life  and  glory  ? 

And  how  great  too  is  the  danger  lest  the  Scholar 
may  fall  into  an  even  more  unreal  and  dreamy  way  of 
looking  at  the  past.  For  the  temper  of  the  Scholar 
which  he  must  cultivate  and  cherish,  is  the  Historical 
Temper,  and  this  may  be  perverted  to  a  most  evil 
purpose.  The  present,  rough,  harsh,  angular,  with  all 
that  is  disagreeable  standing  out  from  it  most  prominent- 
ly, is  all  about  us.  It  grates  upon  us,  its  corners  wound 
and  lacerate,  it  is  homely  and  wears  a  stern  and  every 
day  aspect,  it  forbids  and  it  discourages.  Not  small 
then  is  the  temptation  to  turn  away  from  it,  and  en- 
deavour, as  it  is  said, — though  what  is  meant  by  it  is  very 
difficult  to  see, — endeavour  to  liv^e  in  the  past.  To  in- 
dulge fond  regrets  for  glories  faded  and  for  majesties 
gone  by,  and  instead  of  looking  resolutely  at  what  lies 
about  and  before  one,  to  cast  back  longing  looks  upon  the 
distant  landscape,  sun-gilt  or  clothed  in  rosy  flush  of 
light,  soft,  slumberous,  silent  and  obscure.  To  shut 
one's  ears  to  the  harsh  tones  of  men  around  one,  and  to 
seek  to  live  with  those  alone,  with  whom  indeed  the 
Scholar  must  live  much,  but  may  not  live  entirely,  whose 
voices  murmur  gently  from  the  sepulchre,  or  seem  to 
swell  in  solemn  strains  of  mchidy  from  the  far  distant 
skies.  But  this  is  wretched  :  this  is  ini worthy  of  a 
man,  and  most  unworthy  of  a  Scholar.  For  sure  we 
may  be,  "  that  the  man  over  whom  present  wants,  prcs- 


28 

ent  duties,  and  present  facts  have  no  vigorous  influence, 
is  the  very  worst  qualified  man  for  apprehending  by-gone 
wants,   by-gone    duties,  by-gone   facts."      He   wants 
truthfuhiess,    and  that  is  the   very  foundation   of  the 
Scholar's  character.      And  beside,   what   man  in   his 
senses,  can  ever  be  sighing  in  this  way  after  past  periods, 
be  they  never  so  glorious,  never  so  fully   inscribed  with 
names  that  bare  the  brow  and  make  the  pulses  swell  ? 
Let  us  know  what  it  is  we  do  if  we  do  this.     "  If  we 
ask  that  the  age  in  which  St.  Paul  preached  may  come 
again,  we  ask  also  that  Nero  may  come  back.    If  we  ask 
that  we  may  be  transported  back  to  the  glorious  period 
of  Athanasius,  we  ask  to  live  under  the  tyrant  Constan- 
tius ;    to  have  the    world   almost  wholly  Pagan,  the 
Church  almost  wholly  Arian.     If  we  long  to  sit  at  the 
feet  of  Chrysostom,  we  long  for  the  infamous  corrup- 
tions of  Antioch  and  of  Constantinople.     If  we  reckon 
that  it  would  have  been  a  blessing  to  live  and  die  under 
the  teaching  of  Augustine,  we  must  be  content  to  see 
Rome  sacked  by  one  set  of  Barbarians,  and  the  Church 
in  Africa  threatened  by  another  :  we  must  get  our  learn- 
ing from  a  race  of  effete  rhetoricians,  and  dwell  amid  all 
the  seductions  and  abominations  of  Manicheism."     And 
if  it  were  thus  vain  and  evil  to  have  the  ages  themselves 
return  in  reality  and  life,  how  much  more  vain,  because 
unreal  and  unmeaning,  for  a  man  to  endeavour  to  throw 
himself  into  them  in  any  other  way  than  as  a  seeker  after 
truth,  and  try  to  live  there.    Who  can  do  it,  or  even  wish  to 
doit,  who  believes  that  life  is  what  it  is,  an  earnest,  awful 
struggle  with  and  for  realities,  and  not  a  fleeting  dream  ? 
No  doubt  the  sculptor  would  have  consulted  his  ease 


29 

and  pleasure  ;  no  doubt  liis  visions  of  beauty  would  have 
been  as  high,  had  he  dreamed  over  them  inactively,  and 
never  applied  his  hand  to  fashion  the  rude,  rough,  shape- 
less mass  of  stone.  But  where  then  would  have  been 
the  form  which  leads  and  teaches  other  minds,  and  im- 
bues countless  spirits  in  the  course  of  ages  with  the  love 
and  the  sense  of  the  beautiful  or  the  sublime.  Oh  no  ! 
life  is  no  dream,  learning  is  no  dream,  the  past  is  no 
dream  but  as  we  shall  make  them  so.  And  woe  to  the 
man  who  tries  to  make  them  so.  Woe  to  the  Scholar 
who  dreams  when  he  should  work  :  who  vainly  tries  to 
re-create  the  past,  when  he  should  help  to  inform  and 
mould  the  present,  on  and  by  all  which  that  past  has 
gathered  in  a  long  and  glorious  array,  of  truth  and  hero- 
ism, of  grace  and  strength,  of  grandeur  and  of  beauty. 

But  time  forbids  me  to  dwell  longer  on  a  field  of 
thought  which  spreads  and  widens  as  we  advance  into 
it,  and  I  leave  it  to  speak  briefly  of  the  Scholar's  duty. 

And  what  is  to  be  said  here,  has  been  of  necessity 
somewhat  anticipated  in  that  which  has  already  been 
advanced.  Because  to  speak  of  dangers,  is  impliedly 
at  least  to  speak  of  duties  also.  I  may  perhaps  sum  up 
the  Scholar's  duty  in  two  words  :  that  he  must  be  a  prac- 
tical man  But  in  using  these  words,  care  must  be  taken 
lest  they  shall  be  misunderstood.  In  speaking  of  the 
Scholar  as  a  practical  man,  I  do  not  by  any  means  annex 
such  a  signification  to  the  words,  as  is  annexed  to  them 
by  the  men  of  a  narrow  minded  and  money  getting  age, 
or  generation,  whose  highest  aspirations  are  to  sum  their 
temporal  estates  in  a  line  of  six  figures,  and  whose  best 
literature  are  day  books  and  Icgcrs.    All  this  is  well  in  its 


30 

place;  nay  more,  it  is  not  to  be  treated  with  contempt;  but 
when  w'e  are  speaking  of  Scholarship  and  Scholars,  it 
is  not  to  be  suffered  to  come  into  the  account.  There, 
the  practical  man  is  not  the  man  who  can  drive  the 
shrewdest  bargain  ;  or  who  is  most  skilled  in  getting 
through  the  world  with  the  greatest  possible  advantage 
to  himself,  and  the  least  possible  to  every  body  else  ;  or 
who  can  shew  himself  most  at  home  in  the  ordinary 
walks  and  intercourses  of  every  day  life.  Not  such  a 
man  as  this  is  the  practical  Scholar.  But  he  is  the  man, 
who  when  he  comes  in  contact  with  another  mind,  has 
power  to  give  that  mind  a  bent,  an  impulse,  a  lofty  tone, 
a  high  direction,  an  earnest  ardor,  and  to  impart  to  it 
something  in  the  way  of  knowledge,  as  well  as  to  wake 
it  to  a  deeper,  fuller,  truer  life.  But  who  shall  be,  who 
shall  make  himself  such  a  man  ?  He  who  realises  to 
the  full  that  glorious  position  of  the  Christian  Scholar, 
he  who  avoids  the  dangers  attendant  on  that  position, 
to  which  your  attention  has  been  called.  He  and  none 
other  shall  gain  every  point.  Will  he  slight  learning, 
will  he  turn  away  from  the  treasures  of  the  past,  and 
suffer  himself  to  fall  into  the  wretched,  unmeaning  talk 
one  often  hears  about  book-worms  and  book-learning  ? 
Will  he  neglect  his  own  mind,  and  take  no  care  to  fill  it 
with  all  knowledge  which  he  can,  ever  directing  his 
pursuit  of  knowledge  by  the  wants  of  the  age  and  peo- 
ple ill  and  amongst  which  he  lives  ?  Such  a  man  is  not 
a  practical  Scholar.  Do  men  call  an  artificer  practical 
if  he  does  not  know  his  trade ;  and  would  it  not  be 
prima  facie  evidence  against  him,  were  his  shop  found 
utterly  unfurnished,  and  presenting  to  him  who  came  to 


31 

sec,  a  floor  witli  nothing  on  it,  girt  about  with  four  bare 
walls  ?  Sow  ith  the  Scholar's  mind.  If  it  be  not  stored, 
and  well  stored,  he  will  be  a  man  trying  to  work  without 
instruments  and  means :  his  natural  capacities  may  be 
what  you  please,  and  the  greater  they  are,  the  more 
conspicuous  will  be  his  failure.  To  store  well,  then,  is 
the  first  part,  the  very  foundation  of  that  Scholar's  duty 
who  would  be  a  really  and  truly  practical  man.  And  in 
storing  let  him  not  forget  the  rule  so  applicable  to  his 
work, 

Omne  tulit  pundum,  qui  miscuit  utile  dulci.  "For," 
says  Bishop  Hurd,  "the  unnatural  sc])aration  of  the  duke 
and  the  utile,  has  done  almost  as  much  hurt  in  letters,  as 
that  of  the  honestum  and  utile,  which  Tully  somewhere 
complains  of,  in  morals.  For  while  the  polite  writer, 
as  he  is  called,  contents  himself  with  the  former  of  these 
qualities,  and  the  man  of  erudition  with  the  latter,  it 
comes  to  pass  as  the  same  author  expresses  it,  that  the 
learned  are  deficient  in  popular  eloquence,  and  the  elo- 
quent fail  in  finished  scholarship."' 

But  again  ;  for  thus  far  we  have  but  viewed  the  half  of 
the  Scholar's  duty.  The  other  half  is  to  use  \\'hat  has 
been  gained,  by  bringing  it  so  to  bear  on  other  minds,  as 
that  some  mark,  how  humble  soever,  shall  still  be  left  on 
them ;  some  impulse  given ;  something  in  a  word  im- 
parted. To  recur  to  our  illustration,  homely  indeed 
but  still  significant,  as  without  knowledge  and  instru- 
ments the  artificer  cannot  work,  so  knowledge  and  in- 
struments arc  all  in  vain  to  one  who  folds  his  hands  and 
will  not.     This  state  is  I   suppose  what  they  have  in 

^Hurd's  Horace.     Note  on  the  Ars  Poclica. 


32 

view,  wlio  talk  of  learned  leisure  and  literary  ease. 
That  state  of  "judicial,  magisterial,  collegiate,  parochi- 
al or  private  efflorescence,"  in  which  the  vegetative  pro- 
cess advances  with  a  solemn  dignity  of  progress,  a  grace- 
ful ease  of  growth;  and  the  glorious  termination  of 
whose  course,  is,  that  its  decay  may  possibly  enrich  the 
soil  on  which  it  has  brooded  like  an  incubus,  giving 
neither  shade  nor  ornament,  flower  nor  fruit.  But  one 
would  hope  that  the  growth  of  a  mushroom  was  not  the 
type  of  the  progress  of  a  Scholar. 

In  truth,  as  we  see,  the  Scholar's  duty  is  two-fold  ; 
and  let  us  say  with  reverence  and  awe,  that  it  finds  its 
perfect  pattern,  where  the  pattern  of  all  life,  and  all  its 
parts  is  found,  in  that  most  awful  life  which  the  world 
has  ever  seen,  which  itself  real,  presents  also  the  true 
ideal, — the  life  of  Him,  who  being  very  God,  was  also 
very  man.  Alone  with  the  Father,  and  then  mingling 
with  men ;  such  was  that  awful,  most  mysterious  life, 
in  which  the  pantheists  of  our  day  see  so  little,  that  they 
can  put  its  spirit  on  a  level  with  the  art  of  Greece,  and 
with  the  law  of  Rome  ;^  but  in  which  the  true  souls  of 
other  days,  and  the  noblest  of  our  own,  see  the  true 
model  of  the  truest  life  of  every  living  man,  be  he  who, 
or  what,  or  where  he  may.  Alone  and  then  with  men  ; 
such  was  the  life  of  Christ;  such  must  be  the  Christian's 
life  ;  such  too  must  be  the  life  of  the  Christian  Scholar. 
Alone  in  those  still  hours  of  thought  and  study,  in  which, 
even  as  Virgil  guided  Dante  only  under  the  direction  of 
Beatrice,  so  human  learning  leads  him  on  only  under  the 

'So  Micholet  in  his  blasphemous  book  callftd   "  The  People."     The 
sentiment  has  bceu  echoed  ou  this  side  of  the  Atlainic. 


33 

guidance  of  his  holy  Faith  :  in  whicli,  with  all  low,  pal- 
try notions  of  aggrandisement  or  of  gaining  reputation 
cast  away,  with  all  veils  of  self-deception  torn  aside,  his 
one  only  object  has  been  to  gain  a  deeper  hold  on  deep, 
eternal  truth ;  in  which  the  great  ends  of  life  have  been 
in  solemn  vision  clear  before  his  eyes,  and  he  has  remem- 
bered that  that  man  cannot  study  well,  who  does  not 
devoutly  pray  and  discipline  himself,  since  the  being 
most  like  Satan  which  the  world  can  show,  is  the  man 
of  trained  intellect  and  of  untrained  heart;  alone  in  hours, 
over-brooded  by  these  things  and  thoughts,  he  has  labour- 
ed to  acquire  knowledge,  princii)lcs,  truths,  needful  for 
himself,  needful  for  other  men.  The  world  has  seen  in 
liim  the  shrinking  trembler,  the  dreamer  of  some  dream, 
the  unreal  man,  knowing  little  or  nothing  of  his  kind. 
But  he  knows  that  no  man  who  has  not  silently  studied 
himself,  can  know  other  men  :  that  the  best  and  truest 
knowledge  of  humanity  they  have  gained  who  have  best 
known  themselves :  and  that  the  cloistered  saint  has  a 
deeper  insight  into  human  nature,  than  the  world's  busy 
man.  He  knows  his  ends  and  purposes,  and  he  bides 
his  time,  patiently,  meekly,  but  firmly  and  with  unshaken 
heart. 

That  time  will  come.  It  may  be  long  in  coming,  but 
he  can  afford  to  wait ;  for  they  are  men  of  little  plans 
and  paltry  ends,  who  hurry  and  bustle  about  the  world. 
And  w  hen  it  does  come,  when  the  voice  of  God  is  heard 
to  call,  and  conscience  clearly  points,  then  he  goes  forth, 
in  a  greater  or  a  smaller  sphere  of  action,  yet  great  or 
small  still  glorious,  and  then  he  is  with  men,  and  from 
that  time  forth  his  twofold  life  alternates  with  itself. 


34 

Working  for  the  age,  he  strives  to  correct  its  errors 
mainly  by  endeavoring  to  infuse  positive  truth ;  to  advance 
all  in  it  that  is  good  and  true  ;  to  fight  manfully  against 
that  form,  be  it  what  it  may,  under  which  Satan  attacks 
the  truth  of  God,  and  in  a  word  to  stand  in  the  position, 
to  keep  himself  from  the  dangers,  and  to  discharge  the 
duties  of  a  Christian  Scholar. 

Especially,  as  I  have  said,  will  he  labor  to  discover, 
for  he  is  quite  sure  that  it  exists,  the  mode  which  in  his 
day,  the  attack  of  the  adversary  will  assume,  against 
that  Faith  whose  defence  is  the  highest  form  of  his 
vocation.  The  mode  varies.  Now  it  is  direct  assault ; 
now  it  is  insinuation ;  and  again  it  is  imitation.  This 
last  is  the  mode  of  our  day  :  it  is  evident  in  all  the  litera- 
ture of  whatsoever  kind,  which  certain  sections  of  the 
intellectual  world  are  sending  forth  ;  and  to  correct,  or 
at  least  to  expose  and  denounce  which,  is  therefore  the 
bounden  duty  of  the  Christian  Scholar.^ 

And  surely  on  such  duties  well  discharged,  high  honor 
wahs.  Surely  the  place  and  work  of  him  who  faith- 
fully performs  them,  who  manfully  goes  through  them, 
is  but  inferior  to  theirs  who  minister  the  word  and  sacra- 
ments of  Christ ;  nay  it  waits  on  and  seconds  their  high 
service  ;  and  in  its  self-humiliation  is  exalted  beyond  all 
other  human  things.  Surely  the  work  of  binding  men 
in  intellectual  brotherhood,  in  the  participation  of  truth, 
is  next  to  that  which  binds^in  the  sweet  unities  of  Chris- 
tian Charity  their  higher  souls.     For  so  it  is,  that  the 

'It  was  obviously  impossible  to  enter  fully  into  this  peculiar  phase  of  the 
infidelity  of  our  day,  which,  as  a  late  writer  has  said,  "derived  from  the 
Jew  Spinoxa,  bids  fair  to  divide  the  realms  of  thought  with  the  Christian 
Faith."  1  would  refer  to  an  article  on  Pantheistic  Teudeucies,  iu  the 
April  No.  of  the  Christian  Remembrancer,  1846. 


35 

Cherub's  holy  knowledge,  yields  primacy  and  precedence 
to  nothing,  but  the  Seraph's  ardent  love. 

Gentlemen  : 

I  have  thus  spoken,  how  imperfectly  no  one  can  be 
half  so  sensible  as  I  am,  on  that  high  and  holy  theme, 
so  naturally  suggested  by  the  circumstances  under  which 
we  have  assembled.  For  indeed  it  is  a  theme  that  over- 
tasks one's  powers,  making  him  feel  that  where  so  much 
is  of  necessity  left  unsaid,  he  has  said  next  to  nothing : 
where  an  angel's  voice  might  be  honored  in  its  utterance, 
he  can  have  said  but  slenderly  and  meanly  what  he  has. 
Yet  happily,  the  very  circumstances  which  suggest,  do 
also  themselves  address  us  with  a  force  and  power  which 
no  words  can  reach ;  an  eloquence  which,  voiceless 
though  it  may  be,  yet  thrills  directly  to  the  heart. 

These  old  familiar  scenes,  recalling  other  days,  wdiose 
depth  of  meaning,  whose  exceeding  value,  w  hose  bearing 
on  our  future  life,  we  could  not  know,  and  scarcely  could 
imagine  ;  these  stirrings  of  the  heart  as  hands  are  grasped 
at  this  brief  meeting  of  long  severed  friends,  or  words 
exchanged  which  tell  of  others  gone ;  the  names  of 
those  departed  worthies,  which  in  yonder  halls  are  now 
as  household  words  to  us;  that  honored  name^  joined 
with  theirs  in  a  union  w  hich  shall  outlast  the  stones  that 
there  are  piled,  the  name  of  him  our  Founder,  around 
whose  venerable  presence  cluster  for  so  many  of  us  the 
deepest,  holiest  memories  of  all  our  lives,  the  memories 
of  vows  uttered  on  earth  and   registered  in  heaven  ; — 

^The  College  buildings  bear  the  names  of  the  three  Bishops  of  Connec- 
ticut: Seabury,  Jarvis,  aud  Browucil. 


3G 

God  grant  that  for  many  a  long  year  as  hither  we  come 
up,  that  presence  may  make  gkid  our  eyes  and  hearts  ; — 
and  more  perhaps  than  all,  that  sacred  Name  which  has 
for  many  a  long  century  summed  up  the  Christian  faith, 
and  now  has  given  a  new  and  glorious  consecration  to  our 
mother's  homes  ;  all  these  I  say,  address  us  here.  All 
these,  repeat  the  solemn  exhortation  which  was  given  us 
when  we  were  severally  from  this  place  sent  forth  to 
enter  on  the  work  of  life.  We  cannot  choose  but  listen 
to  them.  We  cannot  choose  but  feel  them.  But  let  us  do 
more.  Let  us  obey  them.  Let  us  resolve,  that  be  we 
what  else  we  may,  we  will  each  in  our  place  and  as  God 
gives  us  power,  we  will  be  Christian  Scholars.  And 
that  in  all  our  way,  whether  of  silent  study  and  solitary 
thought,  or  in  our  minglings  with  men  where  study  bears 
its  fruit,  and  thought  performs  its  work  on  other  minds, 
our  constant  changeless  rule,  shall  be  the  noble  motto  of 
our  College, 

FOR  THE  CHURCH  AND  FOR  OUR  COUNTRY.^ 
jPro  Ecclcsid  et  Patri.3,.     The  Legend  on  tlae  College  Seal. 


1^ 

^Ijc   Uu0ccu    lUitucsscs. 

A  POEM 

DELIVERED    R  E  F  O  U  E     THE 

ASSOCIATION  OF  THE  ALUMNI 

OF 

TRINITY  COLLEGE, 

IN 

CHRIST  CHURCH,  HARTFORD,  AUG.  5,  1816. 


BY    THE 

REV.  THOMAS  P.  TYLER,  A.  M., 

RECTOR  OF  TRINITY  CHURCH,  FREDONIA,  N.  Y, 


HARTFORD : 
WILLIAM   FAXON, 

CALENDAR     PRESS. 
1846. 

s— — ~ — a; 


*^*  At  a  meeting  of  the  Association  of  the  Alumni,  held  Aug. 
5th,  1846,  it  was 

"  Resolved,  That  the  thanks  of  the  Association  be  presented  to 
the  Rev.  Mr.  Tyler,  for  his  Poem  delivered  this  afternoon,  and 
that  the  Officers  of  the  Association  be  a  Committee  to  request  a 
copy  for  publication." 

Attest,         GURDON  W.  RUSSELL,  Secretary. 


s 


as- 


^— ^ — ^ 


THE    UNSEEN    WITNESSES. 


I. 

Darkness  enwrapt  the  Earth  ere  its  first  morn, 
The  Spirit  moved  upon  the  waters'  face, 

The  Word  went  forth  ;  a  new  creation,  born 
Of  Water  and  the  Spirit,  bore  the  trace 
Of  God's  perfections  ;  nor  can  Time  efface 

Those  lineaments  divine  on  it  impressed ; 
The  Invisible  revealed  in  light  and  grace  ! 

Still  to  the  reverent  gaze  of  angels  blessed, 
What  then  it  was,  the  Eternal  Son  made  manifest. 


II. 

Leaves  have  not  faded ;  still  upon  the  skies, 
The  glowing  sunsets  of  this  land  of  ours, 

Its  summer  foliage,  and  the  thousand  dies 
Which  tint  its  earlier,  and  its  later  flowers, 
The  bow  of  promise  smiling  thro'  its  showers, 

On  all  about  us,  day  and  night,  are  seen 

All  Eden's  hues ;  nor  in  those  happy  bowers 

Moved  forms  of  softer  grace,  or  manlier  mien. 
Than  now,  in  breathing  life,  arc  round  us  here,  I  ween. 


^- 


SJ . ^ 

i  THE    UNSEEN    WITNESSES. 


III. 

Darkness  enwrapt  the  Earth,  and  moral  night; 

The  Word  went  forth,  tlic  Incarnate  God,  once  more, 
Saying,  with  human  lips,  "Let  there  be  light ;" 

And  as  Judea's  land,  and  Jordan's  shore 

He  meekly  trod,  the  Spirit  as  of  yore 
Was  there  creative,  and  to  angels  blessed, 

More  wonderful  than  aught  beheld  before, 
The  Church  appeared,  in  heavenly  beauty  dressed, 
To  be  on  Earth  for  aye,  the  Christ  inadc  manifest. 


IV. 

A  new  creation,  out  from  chaos  born 
Of  Water  and  the  Spirit,  bore  the  trace 

Of  His  redeeming  Love  ;  and  from  that  morn 
When  He  departed  to  prepare  a  place 
For  His  elect,  abide  its  gifts  of  grace ; 

Nor  ages  dark  with  violence  and  crime 
Can  its  unearthly  character  efface, 

To  His  baptized  a  theatre  sublime, 
Where  each  must  win,  or  lose,  the  battle-field  of  Time. 


The  sons  of  God  in  one  communion  bound ! 

Regenerate  all  from  their  blessed  infancy; 
The  heavenly  host  its  sacred  pale  around 

Keep  watch  and  ward  ;  and  look  most  earnestly 

For  what  each  christened  one  will  do  and  be  ; 
Nor  are  we  careless  of  their  loving  gaze. 

Since  He  who  beckons  us  to  victory 
Thro'  scenes  of  labor  here,  and  suffering's  ways, 
Hath  said  '  make  friends  of  them,'  in  these  your  trial  days. 


»~ 


SJ J2 

j  THE    (JNSEEN    WITNESSES.  5 

( 

i 

I  VI. 

They  see  not  as  we  see  ;  before  our  sight 

The  veil  of  flesh  remaining,  wo  behold 
The  human  only,  and  the  earnest  fight 

Waged  by  the  few,  the  zealous  and  the  bold, 

For  God's  own  truth  on  Earth,  while  faint  and  cold 
The  many  are ;  and  some  we  trusted  most 

Around  us  fall,  or  flee,  tho'  sworn  to  hold 
Aloft  the  banners  of  the  Christian  host, 
Sworn  'neath  those  words  of  power,  "Receive  the  Holy  Ghost." 


vn. 

They  see  not  as  we  see ;  but  as  of  eld 

The  prophet's  servant,  at  his  lord's  desire, 

With  eyes  unveiled,  the  spirit  host  beheld 

Circling  the  mountain  with  their  ranks  of  fire, 
As  Judah's  shepherds  saw  the  heavenly  choir, 

As  Jordan's  crowds  the  Holy  Dove  descending. 
As  raitre-tongueS  of  flame  the  twelve  inspire, — 

But  glimpses  these,  of  glory  never  ending, 
The  Church  of  God  for  aye,  in  angels'  eyes  attending. 


VIII. 

At  holy  font  7oe  see  the  mother  mild, 

The  ministering  priest  with  surpliced  arms  receive 

And  sign,  in  Jesus'  name,  th'  unconscious  child  ; 
But  they  behold  all  we  thro'  faith  believe, 
Or  haply,  at  our  want  of  faith  may  grieve, 

As  from  on  high  above  each  christen'd  one 
The  Heavenly  Dove  descending  they  perceive 

And  hear  the  Father  say,  '  this  is  my  son' — 
A  child  of  God  new  born !  an  endless  life  bccfun ! 

^ ^ 


J    6  THE    UNSEEN    ^yITNESSES. 


IX. 

And  from  that  hour  they  watch  our  onward  way, 

Thro'  boyhood's  careless  scenes  ;  the  many  snares 
That  round  our  youth  deceitful  pleasures  lay; 

The  manlier  duties,  and  the  sterner  cares  ; 

The  part,  or  great,  or  humble,  in  the  affairs 
Of  this  full  world,  that  manhood  must  sustain  ; 

The  burden  which  old  age  in  weakness  bears  ; 
The  ceaseless  strife  thro'  weariness  and  pain, 
"Which  each  must  wage  and  win,  the  immortal  crown  to  gain. 


X. 

They  see  not  as  we  see ;  for  in  our  eyes 

The  fleeting  things  of  Earth,  its  pomp  and  show, 

Such  glories  as  from  stirring  deeds  arise, 
Such  honors  as  from  wealth  or  genius  flow, 
Make  wide  the  difference  of  high  and  low. 

But  in  their  sight  of  equal  dignity 

Is  every  contest  here  for  weal  or  woe, 

And  equal  honor  shall  their  portion  be, 
Who  make  of  them  on  eartli,  friends  for  eternity. 


XI. 

In  varied  form  life's  trial  comes  to  each, 

To  be  of  varied  powers  the  appointed  test, 
To  knit  and  nerve  the  spirit's  strength,  or  teach 

Patient  submission  to  the  Lord's  behest ; 

And  he  the  bravest  fights  who  filleth  best 
The  place  and  ministry  assigned  to  him. 

Nor  hath  a  christened  soul  on  earth  possessed 
A  nobler  field;  nor  do  the  cherubim, 
Who  chaunt  before  God's  throne  the  high  trisagion  hymn  ! 

^ ^ 


-a 


THE    UNSEEN    WITNESSES. 


xir. 

The  paths  of  some  seem  nobler :  in  the  youth 

Of  this  our  happy  country,  there  was  one 
Who  too  was  young  ;  precepts  of  heavenly  truth, 

And  honor  high,  the  mother  taught  her  son  ; 

And  wealth  was  liis ;  and  early  manhood  won 
A  soldier's  fame  ;  and  when  at  length  this  land 

Its  noble  strife  for  victory  begun, 
The  leader  of  her  host,  his  heart  and  hand 
Were  hers,  till  millions  freed  victorious  saw  him  stand. 


XIII. 

And  mammon's  richest  prize,  a  conqueror's  crown. 
Seemed  in  his  reach  ;  but  nobler,  he  preferred 

The  better  part,  the  patriot's  pure  renown ; 
And  long  thro'  after  years  his  guiding  word, 
In  council  now,  as  erst  in  battle  heard, 

Led  on  this  land,  thro'  honor's  path  to  fame  ; 

And  added  States,  and  myriad  hearts  are  stirred 

With  love  and  pride,  that  all  alike  may  claim 
The  glorious  heritage  of  his  unsullied  name  ! 


XIV. 

On  a  wide  theatre  he  fought  and  won  ; 

A  world  admiring  paused  his  course  to  view ; 
And  when,  at  length,  his  earthly  work  was  done, 

And  his  great  spirit  from  our  sight  withdrew, 

To  those  immortal  ones  unseen,  who  knew, 
And  watched  his  path,  and  marked  his  victory. 

We  know  that  they,  far  more  than  we  could  do, 
Revered,  esteemed,  and  loved  him — know  that  ho, 
Of  all  God's  radiant  host  made  friends  eternally. 


m ■ ^ 

S  THE    UNSEEN    WITNESSES.  | 


XV. 

There  was  another, — there  are  many  such — 
He  had  no  wealth,  not  even  of  the  mind, 

Save  rude  ideas  of  right  and  truth, — as  much 
As  they  can  teach  or  learn,  like  him  confined 
To  ceaseless  toil : — all  things  on  earth  combined 

To  place  him  in  the  humblest,  hardest  lot, 
Whereon  the  sun  of  fortune  never  shined : 

By  man  o'erlooked ;  by  God  he  seemed  forgot. 
Seemed  in  sore  need  to  pray,  to  one  who  answered  not. 


XVI. 

There  never  dawned  prosperity  for  him, 

Nor  hope  of  better  days;  but  darker  yet 
Were  threatening  ever,  as  his  eye  grew  dim, 

And  strength  decayed;  or  sickness  came,  and  debt. 

Small  in  itself,  but  hardly  to  be  met 
By  one  who  scarcely  dared  to  turn  aside 

From  ill  paid  toil  for  daily  bread,  to  wet 
With  bitter  tears  the  face  of  one  who  died 
Lest  they — the  rest — should  starve,  who  on  that  toil  relied. 

XVII. 

Temptations  fierce  beset  that  man  throughout, 
To  murmur  oft  at  heaven's  resistless  will ; 

Or  if  there  were  a  Providence  to  doubt, 

Who  could  this  teeming  world  with  plenty  fill 
While  he  and  his  must  suifer  on,  and  till 

Another's  soil  unthankcd  ;  or  right,  or  wrong, 
vSomc  hours  of  wild  forgetfulness  of  ill 

To  snatch  from  fate,  amid  the  impious  throng 
Who  drown  all  thought  of  God,  in  wine  and  mirth  and  song. 

38-— 


K~ 


IS. 


THE    UNSEEN    WITNESSES. 


XVIII. 

And  yet  he  triumphed  ;  an  unbroken  heart, 

A  kindly  spirit  bearing  to  the  end  ; 
Unmurmuring  resignation  to  the  part 

Of  earthly  sorrow,  God  was  pleased  to  send  ; 

A  stern  integrity,  which  naught  could  bend  ; 
Unfaultcring  trust,  and  never  ceasing  prayer 

To  Him  he  knew  the  friendless  could  befriend  : 
In  darkest  hours,  undoubting,  to  His  care 
Commending  those  beloved,  he  calmly  left  them  there. 


XIX. 

And  when  his  spirit,  disciplined  and  tried, 
And  faithful  unto  death,  at  length  withdrew 

To  those  who  long  his  toilsome  path  beside 
Had  watched  invisible,  and  saw  and  knew, 
Far  more  that  we  on  earth  could  ever  do 

Of  conflicts  fierce  wherein  he  did  not  yield, 
Think  you  this  life,  so  manly  and  so  true, 

Less  to  their  love  and  confidence  appealed, 
Than  his  who  fought  that  fight  upon  a  broader  field  ! 


XX. 


"We  know  not  yet  what  depth  of  meaning  lies 

In  those  deep  meaning  words,  the  promising 
Of  riches  true,  of  crowns  and  dignities 

To  them  in  this  life-warfare  conquering ; 

But  surely,  as  eternity  shall  fling 
Its  ages  round  them  both,  as  both  have  striven 

With  equal  strength  in  lots  so  diftbring, 
An  equal  sphere  to  both  shall  there  be  given, 
Mid  thrones,  dominions,  principalities  of  heaven  I 


»- 


'» 


I    10  THE    UNSEEN    WITNESSES^ 


XXI. 

Of  little  worth  a  human  life  appears, 

A  round  of  duties  dying  with  the  day  ; 
And  when  by  scenes  like  these  we  count  our  years, 

Reminding  us  anew  how  far  away 

From  youth  and  college  days  our  footsteps  stray  ; 
When  there,  where  once  a  busy  part  we  bore 

We  are  forgotten ; — all  things  seem  to  say 
How  quickly  will  our  earthly  life  be  o'er, 
And  they  who  fill  our  place,  remember  us  no  more  ! 

XXII. 

Yet  on  !  with  higher  hope  and  better  cheer ! 

What  tho'  our  manhood  passeth  rapidly, 
And  our  best  years  accomplish  nothing  here 

But  seems  with  us  to  share  tho  destiny 

To  die  and  be  forgotten: — Let  us  be 
In  these  our  few  things  faithful,  and  no  fame 

Of  earth  shall  equal  ours,  tho'  history 
Unites  its  many  voices  to  proclaim 
Abroad  from  age  to  age,  a  favorite  hero's  name. 


xxrii. 

The  first  creation, — earth,  and  skies,  which  seem 
A  veil  translucent  drawn  before  God's  throne, 

Surround  us  here;  and  'twas  no  baseless  dream 
Of  olden  time  ;  nor  poet's  myth  alono 
Which  saw  in  all  a  spirit ;  and  would  own 

A  deity  in  every  breeze  that  stirred, 

A  god  who  ruled  the  sea,  and  one  whose  tone 

From  high  Olympus  in  the  storm  was  heard  ; 
There  is  a  God  in  all — our  God — the  Eternal  Word  ! 


THE    UNSEEN    WITNESSES.  11 


XXIV. 

And  by  His  presence,  Lo  !  this  sphere  of  earth, 
The  place  whereon  we  tread  is  holy  ground ! 

And  holier  far  the  place  of  our  new-birth, 

Where  He  with  joy  receives  the  lost  and  found. 
And  Angel-ministers  our  paths  surround  ; 

Where  great  results  make  all  our  doings  great. 
And  daily  tasks,  to  which  our  lives  are  bound, 

May  win  us  crowns  they  cannot  emulate, 
Who  watch  us  here  unseen,  and  for  our  coming  wait. 


K ^ 


Collegiate   (Sbn cation. 

AN  ADDRESS 

PROXOUXCED  BEFORE 

THE    HOUSE    OF    CONVOCATION, 

OP 

TRINITY    COLLEGE, 

HARTFORD, 


AUGUST    4th,    1847. 


BY  THE  llEV.  J.  M.  WAINWRIGHT,  D.  D., 

ASSISTANT  MI.MSTGR  OF  TKI^•ITY  CHURCH,  NEW  YORK,  AND  FEIXOW  OF    TRINITY  COLXXCr. 


PUBLISHED   BY  ORDER    OF  CONVOCATION. 


HARTFORD: 

PRESS    or    CASE,    TIFFANY    &    BURN  HAM. 
1847. 


Edidi  qu^  potui,  non  ut  volui,  sed  ut  me  temporis 
ANGUSTiJE  COEGERUNT. — Cic.  de  Orat.  Lib.  iii.  Cap.  Gl. 


ADDEESS. 


Mr.  Dean,  and  Gentlemen  of  the  House  of  Convo- 
cation, 

The  statute  of  the  Coi'poration  of  Trinity  College, 
under  the  authority  of  which  we  are  now  met  together, 
eminently  liberal  and  wise  in  its  inception,  appears  to  me 
already  to  be  giving  proof  of  its  beneficial  operation. 
Heretofore  the  literary  festival  we  are  about  to  celebrate, 
has  attracted  us  from  our  distant  homes  and  various  pur- 
suits to  testify  our  respect  for  this  seminary  of  learning, 
and  our  sympathy  with  the  young  brethren  who  are  to 
receive  its  honors ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  to  enjoy 
amongst  ourselves  the  pleasures  of  social  intercourse. 
But  I  feel  confident  that  I  speak  your  sentiments  when  I 
say  that  we  are  now  drawn  hither  by  an  additional  and 
even  a  higher  motive  ;  and  that  we  are  prepared  to  man- 
ifest a  much  warmer  love  for  Trinity  College,  and  a  far 
deeper  interest  in  its  welfare  than  we  have  ever  felt  be- 
fore, in  consequence  of  the  trust  with  which  we  have 
been  honored,  and  in  view  of  the  duty  which  that  tnist 
calls  upon  us  to  discharge.  As  the  House  of  Convoca- 
tion, we  have  a  distinct  being  in  connexion  with  the  Col- 
lege, and  are  recognized  as  having  a  constituent  depart- 
ment in  the  management  of  its  concerns.  We  are  not, 
indeed,  endowed  with  any  positive  legislative  or  execu- 
tive authority,  for  no  such  could  well  be  delegated  to  us  ; 
but  our  advice  is  solicited  upon  measures  which  involve 
the  best  interests  of  the  institution,  and  we  have  every 


assurance  that  our  recommendations  will  receive  always 
most  respectful  consideration  from  the  other  house  of  the 
Senatus  Academicus,  the  Corporation.* 

I  anticipate  from  this  new  arrangement  a  very  marked 
and  quick  return  of  favorable  results  ;  and  I  cannot  but 
congratulate  you,  gentlemen,  and  all  who  have  been  in- 
strumental in  bringing  it  about,  that  this  important  for- 
ward movement  in  collegiate  life  in  our  country  can  claim 
this  institution  as  its  starting  place.  The  sons  of  this 
college  can  no  longer  feel,  that  when  they  have  completed 
the  four  years  of  their  academic  life,  and  have  received 
their  first  degree  in  arts,  they  are  then  severed  from  their 
Alma  Mater,  and  that  thenceforward  nothing  more  can 
be  expected  from  them  than  to  cherish  a  grateful  recol- 
lection of  her.  She  will  not  permit  them  thus  to  be  cut 
loose  from  her.  She  solicits  them  to  change  the  tie  of 
discipline  and  instruction,  sometimes  perchance  painful 
or  irksome,  into  a  bond  of  love,  which  shall  draw  them 
frequently  to  come  and  revive  pleasing  and  profitable  as- 
sociations, and  bring  with  them  offerings  of  filial  gratitude. 
Thus  the  annual  return  of  the  commencement  season, 
while  it  will  offer  to  a  greater  extent  even  than  before, 
the  opportunity  for  social  intercourse  between  the  com- 
panions of  former  days,  will  become  a  stated  occasion  for 
grave  conference,  and  for  friendly  and  truth-finding  de- 
bate upon  the  all-important  subject  of  education.  Are 
we  over  sanguine  in  the  belief  that  the  results  of  a  counsel 
thus  gathered  from  widely  distant  sections  of  our  land, 
from  all  the  varied  pursuits  of  life,  and  from  the  contrasted 
experience  of  the  young  and  the  aged  alumnus  ;  and  these 
maturely  weighed  and  modified,  if  need  be,  by  the  upper 

•  As  this  address  may  possibly  fall  into  the  hands  of  those  who  are  not 
acquainted  with  Trinity  College  and  its  organization,  and  who  niay  feel 
some  interest  in  knowing  about  it,  I  have  thought  it  expedient  to  put 
into  an  Appendix,  a  brief  statement,  taken  from  the  College  Calendar  for 
1847. 


house,  will  recloimd  to  the  honor  and  usefulness  of  our 
seminary,  and  will  preserve  it  from  being  justly  obnox- 
ious to  the  charge  of  falling  behind  the  age,  or  of  opposing 
any  real  and  well  tested  improvement  which  the  spirit  of 
the  age  may  suggest  ? 

Upon  the  occasion  of  the  first  public  meeting  of  this 
body  last  year,  there  could  not  have  been  selected  a  sub- 
ject of  discourse  more  appropriate  than  the  one  to  which 
your  attention  was  directed.*  How  fully,  clearly,  and 
eloquently  it  was  treated,  and  how  great  the  satisfaction 
and  instruction  those  of  us  who  had  the  privilege  of  being 
present  derived  from  it,  I  need  not  say.  Assembled  once 
again  as  "  Christian  Scholars,^''  I  cannot  doubt  that  we 
are  all  anxious  to  discharge,  as  opportunity  may  bring 
them  up,  the  various  duties  which  that  favored  character 
has  devolved  upon  us.  Adverting,  then,  to  our  new  posi- 
tion as  members  of  this  Convocation,  a  prominent  duty, 
here  and  noio,  seems  to  me  to  point  us  to  our  connexion 
with  colleariate  life.  Our  thouo-hts  and  conversation  at 
our  annual  gathering  beneath  these  classic  shades  are 
naturally  directed  to  this  class  of  reminiscences,  and 
hence  the  principles  upon  which  collegiate  education  and 
discipline  should  be  conducted  will  as  naturally  present  to 
us  a  subject  for  discussion.  At  least  I  will  venture  to  say 
that  I  hope  this  will  follow  as  one  of  the  signal  benefits  of 
our  organization. 

So  impressed  am  I  with  the  importance  of  this  pros- 
pective result  in  its  happy  influence  upon  the  well-being 
ot  this  seminary,  and  also  in  exciting  inquiry  and  extend- 
ing knowledge  amongst  educated  men  in  relation  to  a 
subject  which  should  be  dear  to  them,  tiiat  I  feel  con- 
strained to  offer  myself  as  a  humble  pioneer  to  direct 

"The  Christian  Scholar  ;  his  iiosition,  his  danger  and  his  duties.  An 
Address  pronounced  before  the  House  of  Convocation  of  Trinity  College, 
Hartford,  August  5th,  18-16,  by  Rev.  John  Williams,  M.  A.,  Rector  of  St. 
George's  Church,  Schenectady,  and  a  Junior  Fellow  of  Trinity  College. 


6 

your  attention  to  it.  It  covers  a  very  large  extent  of 
ground,  and  will  require  many  successive  years  to  occupy 
and  improve  it  in  a  suitable  manner.  My  allotted  task 
would  seem  to  be  the  simj)le  attempt  to  clear  away  some 
obstructions,  as  a  preparation  for  a  higher  and  more  suc- 
cessful culture  which  is  to  follow.  Expect  me,  then,  and 
permit  me,  to  be  somewhat  discursive  in  my  remarks 
while  I  suggest  some  of  those  many  topics  connected  with 
the  one  great  subject  of  collegiate  education  and  disci- 
pline, which  I  trust  will  receive  from  abler  and  better 
prepared  occupants  of  this  place  than  he  who  now  has 
the  honor  of  addressing  you  can  presume  to  imagine  him- 
self, distinct  and  adequate  examination. 

But  that  I  may  not  be  tempted  to  wander  without  a 
definite  purpose  over  too  wide  a  space,  I  shall  direct  my 
observations. 

First,  to  the  general  state  of  education,  its  defects  and 
their  remedy  :  and 

Next,  to  the  outline  of  a  plan  which  may  exemplify 
what  will  thus  be  put  forward  as  the  true  idea  of  a  sound 
collegiate  education. 

It  is  a  strange  fact  and  one  difficult  to  account  for,  that 
education,  which  has  ever  been  held  in  the  highest  esti- 
mation by  the  thoughtful  and  well  informed,  should  yet 
be  so  uncertain  as  to  its  fundamental  principles  and  its 
practical  administration.  A  distinguished  scholar  and 
eloquent  writer,  the  late  Dr.  Thomas  Brown,  deliberately 
asserted  from  his  Professorial  chair  in  the  University  of 
Edinburgh,  that  "  the  noblest,  but,  in  j^roportion  to  its 
value,  the  least  studied  of  all  the  arts  is  the  art  of  educa- 
tion."* Another  Professor  now  filling  a  high  place  in  the 
city  of  London,  within  the  present  year  aflirmedthat  "  all 
education  has  hitherto  been  and  long  will  be  a  mixture  of 
some  truth  with  more  fancy  and  error."!     And  an  able 

♦  Lectures  on  the  Philosophy  of  the  Human  Mind,  Lecture  IV. 
t  Dr.  Elliottson,  Harveian  Oration  for  184G. 


and  most  earnest  writer  thus  commences  his  valuable 
treatise  upon  Popular  Education,  published  only  a  few 
years  since.  "  It  is  a  matter  of  deep  regret  to  the  first 
men  of  the  age  that  education  has  not  yet  been  placed 
upon  a  practically  useful  basis.  It  is  felt  that  it  is  im- 
perfectly enjoyed  even  by  the  educated,  utterly  withheld 
from  the  multitude,  and  not  yet  systematized  either  in 
principles  or  plan."*  These  are  startling  declarations, 
and  if  we  are  not  prepared  to  admit  them  in  all  their 
breadth,  I  fear  we  shall  be  constrained  to  acknowledge 
that  they  are  too  near  the  truth  for  the  satisfaction  or 
repose  of  those  who  have  any  charge  in  directing  this 
great  instrument  of  human  improvement. 

Perhaps  it  may  help  to  a  better  understanding  of  these 
assertions  and  a  more  ready  assent  to  their  ti-uth,  if  I  ask 
my  hearers  to  make  a  clear  distinction  in  their  minds  be- 
tween the  art  of  education  as  such,  and  the  various  arts 
and  sciences  upon  which  it  may  be  employed.  Education 
is  not  an  intimate  knowledge  of  these,  or  of  any  one  of 
them,  although  it  implies,  and,  in  order  to  its  successful 
exercise,  demands  this  knowledge.  In  its  own  separate 
nature  it  relates  simply  to  the  method  of  communicating 
in  the  quickest  and  most  effectual  manner  to  the  subject 
of  its  training,  the  principles  and  practice  of  some  art  or 
science  other  than  itself.  This  distinction  may  tend  to 
soothe  that  intellectual  pride  so  natural  to  the  human 
mind,  and  which  perchance  might  be  offended  at  the  bare 
suggestion  that  the  present  generation  is  not  in  all  respects 
wiser  and  better  off  than  those  which  have  passed  away. 
It  will  be  universally  conceded  that  in  many  of  the  de- 
partments of  human  knowledge,  there  has  ever  been  a 
gradual,  and  in  some  of  them,  in  recent  times,  a  rapid 
and  wonderful  advancement.     If  this  camiot  be  affirmed 

♦  Necessity  of  Popular  Education,  &c.  by  James  Simpson. 


8 

of  literature  generally,  of  the  fine  arts,  or  of  mental  and 
moral  philosophy,  or  what  in  college  phrase  are  termed 
humaniores  litercB,  there  can  be  no  doubt  but  that  in  exact 
science,  and  science  as  adapted  to  the  arts  of  life,  a  mar- 
vellous progress  has  been  made  and  is  still  making,  in 
consequence  of  which  the  family  of  civihzed  man  now 
enjoys  advantages  immeasurably  greater  than  those  pos- 
sessed by  any  former  generation.  But  this  is  not  the 
question  before  us.  The  point  is  simply,  whether  or  not 
for  centuries  past  there  has  been  any  marked  improvement 
in  the  art  of  training  the  faculties  of  the  human  intellect, 
and  of  communicating  the  literature  and  science  of  a  par- 
ticular age  to  the  youthful  minds  of  that  age.*  Is  philoso- 
phy, then,  better  taught  now  than  it  was  in  the  lectures  of 
the  Porch  or  the  Academy  ?  Is  there  any  where  a  more 
thorough  school  for  the  discipline  of  rhetoric  and  oratory 
than  that  to  which  the  youthful  Cicero  resorted?  Has 
there  yet  been  a  better  plan  devised,  one  fuller  and  more 
judicious  in  its  directions  as  to  the  management  of  the 
child  from  the  first  development  of  the  faculty  of  speech 
to  the  crowning  work  of  education  in  the  formation  of  the 
perfect  orator,  than  is  to  be  found  in  the  Institutiones 
Oratorice  of  Quintilian  ?  As  to  the  knowledge  of  lan- 
guage and  appreciation  of  the  beauties  of  style,  no  one 
acquainted  with  the  subject,  I  presume,  would  assert  that 
in  any  community  whatsoever,  at  present  existing,  they 
are  as  thoroughly  or  widely  disseminated  as  they  were  at 

♦  "Though  the  subject  has  of  late  been  brought  forward,  it  may  with 
confidence  be  asserted,  that  the  important  theory  of  education  has  by  no 
means  kept  pace  with  the  improvements  which  have  been  made  in  the 
various  departments  of  science  and  art,  during  the  last  century."  Re- 
marks on  Scholastic  and  Academic  Education.  Part  1st  of  Phantasm 
OF  AN  Univkrsity,  by  Charles  Kelsall,  Esq.  A  fanciful  work  gotten 
up  with  great  expense  of  beautiful  but  impracticable  architectural  de- 
signs for  an  University.  It  contains,  however,  wise  and  profitable  sug- 
gestions upon  the  subject  of  education. 


9 

Athens,  when  the  whole  mass  of  the  people  was  so  well 
educated  in  these  respects  that  not  a  i^rammatical  error, 
not  a  defect  even  of  pronunciation  could  escape  detection 
by  the  very  women  about  the  market  place.* 

These  illustrations,  however,  must  not  be  pressed  be- 
yond their  due  and  prescribed  limits.  I  cannot,  I  trust, 
be  suspected  of  adducing  them  in  order  to  raise  the  shght- 
est  doubt  of  the  reality  of  progressive  improvement  in 
the  social  condition  of  man.  "  Knowledges  manifold,"! 
which  either  had  not  sprung  into  being,  or  were  the  jeal- 
ously guarded  inheritance  of  the  few,  are  now  freely  dis- 
tributed amongst  the  many.  The  rights  of  man  are  far 
better  understood  than  they  have  ever  been  before  ;  they 
are  more  safely  protected  by  popular  institutions,  and  the 
physical  comforts  of  man  are  vastly  increased.  But  no 
one  can  imagine  what  would  have  been  his  condition  at 
this  time  had  the  art  of  education  kept  an  equal  pace  of 
improvement  with  many  of  the  other  arts  of  social  life, 
and  had  a  true  idea  of  its  grand  purpose  been  ever  held 
out  in  prominent  view  so  that  all  intelligent  and  benevo- 
lent minds  could  have  worked  towards  one  certain  and 
well  defined  object.  That  it  would  have  been  far  wiser, 
happier  and  more  peaceful  will  hardly  be  denied.  Some 
portions  of  the  poet's  description  of  the  primitive  but 
imaginary  age  would  have  found  their  counterpart  in  the 
present  actual  one. 


•  The  allusion  here  is  to  a  passage  in  that  delightful  classical  romance 
Voyage  du  Jeune  Anacharsis  en  Grcce.  It  is  so  long  since  1  read  it, 
however,  that  I  cannot  recur  to  it.  The  learned  Abbe  doubtless  had  au- 
thority for  his  assertion,  and  according  to  his  custom  has  most  probably 
given  it  at  the  bottom  of  his  page.  But  I  am  reminded  of  Cicero's  state- 
ment to  the  same  effect,— tamen  eruditissimos  homines  Asiaticos  quivis 
Athenicnsis  indoctus,  non  verbis,  sed  sono  vocis,  nee  tarn  bene,  quam 
suaviter  loquendo,  facile  superabit.     De  Orat.  Lib.  III.  Cap.  11. 

t  Coleridge. 

2 


10 

^tas,  quffi,  vindice  nullo, 
Sponte  sua,  sine  lege,  lidem  lectumque  colebat. 

Non  galese,  non  ensis,  erant ;  sine  mililis  usu 
Mollia  securae  pei-agebant  otia  gentes.* 

In  advancing-  an  opinion,  however,  so  unfavorable  in 
one  important  respect  to  an  age  w^hich  is  accustomed  to 
boast  itself  mightily  of  great  achievements,  and  vshich 
certainly  has  many  undeniable  reasons  for  self-laudation, 
I  may  be  excused  for  seeking  to  fortify  what  I  assert  by 
an  appeal  to  other  testimony.  I  will  direct  your  notice, 
therefore,  to  one  who  has  discussed  this  question,  and 
others  kindred  to  it,  with  sagacity,  knowledge  and  a  be- 
nevolent zeal,  although  I  cannot  sympathize  with  him  in 
all  his  complaints,  or  acknowledge  that  there  is  value  in 
all  his  suggestions.  His  work,  from  which  I  quote,  was 
written  for  England,  and  was  designed  for  an  exposure  of 
the  great  faults  in  society  existing  there  ;  but  the  remarks 
which  I  here  offer  for  your  consideration  are  not  less  ap- 
plicable to  ourselves.  "  No  error  is  more  profound  or 
prevalent  than  the  persuasion  that  we  are  an  educated 
class  in  the  best  sense  of  the  term.  Our  complacent  con- 
clusions on  the  subject  are  however  exceedingly  natural. 
Look,  it  is  said,  at  our  libraries,  our  encyclopedias,  teem- 
ing as  they  do  with  knowledge  in  every  branch  of  science 
and  literature.  See  our  chemical,  mathematical,  mechan- 
ical powers,  with  all  their  realized  results,  which  seem  to 
mould  nature  at  our  will  and  render  life  proudly  luxuri- 
ous. Then  turn  to  our  classical  literature,  our  beUes  let- 
tres,  our  poetry,  our  eloquence,  our  polished  intercourse, 
our  refined  society  ;  consider  our  fine  arts  and  elegancies, 
and  above  all  think  of  our  legislation  and  political  econ- 
omy, our  institutions  of  benevolence  and  justice,  and  the 
{gigantic  combinations  of  our  entire  national  system. 
There  is  much  in  these  high-sounding  claims  that  deceives 

•  Ovid.  Metam.    Lib.  I.  89. 


11 

us.  We  are  prone  to  borrow  from  the  large  fund  of  credit 
we  possess  in  the  exact  and  physical  sciences,  to  place 
the  loan  to  the  account  of  universal  intellectual  and  moral 
attainment,  and  to  conclude  that  a  pitch  of  improvement, 
which  enables  us  to  travel  thirty  miles  an  hour,  must 
comprise  in  it  every  thing  else  of  knowledge  and  power. 
But  alas  !  when  we  look  beyond  the  range  of  physical 
tangibilities,  and,  it  may  be,  elegant  literature,  into  the 
region  of  mental  and  moral  relations,  in  short  the  science 
of  man,  upon  which  depend  the  wisdom  of  our  legislation, 
and  the  soundness  of  our  institutions  and  customs,  what 
a  scene  of  uncertainty  do  we  see  !  Fixed  principles  in 
social  affairs  have  not  yet  been  attained.  Scarcely  shall 
we  meet  two  individuals  who  are  guided  by  the  same 
code.  Hence  controversy  is  the  business  of  the  moral,  and 
assuredly  we  may  add,  of  the  religious  world.  To  engross 
as  much  wealth,  gain  as  much  of  what  is  miscalled  dis- 
tinction as  our  neighbor,  and  outstrip  him  in  the  business 
of  life.  A  catalogue  of  our  defects — all  referable  to  the 
education  where\\dth  we  are  mocked,  might  be  expatiated 
upon  to  the  extent  of  a  volume."* 

This  is  certainly  a  forbidding  picture,  and  drawn  with 
a  severe  pencil,  but  in  the  main  features  delineated,  it  is 
doubtless  a  truthful  one.  It  behooves  us  therefore  not  to 
turn  from  it  in  anger  or  contempt,  but  rather  to  look  upon 
it  ourselves,  and  hold  it  up  to  others,  until  we  have  start- 
led the  whole  community  of  thinking  men,  and  especially 
those  who  have  any  responsible  charge  of  education,  into 
the  conviction  that  the  true  idea  of  this  art  is  as  yet 
vaguely  existing  amongst  us,  and  very  imperfectly  accom- 
plishing its  legitimate  design. 

Do  you  seek  for  the  causes  of  this  lamentable  deficien- 
cy 1     We  believe  that  one  of  them  at  least  does  not  lie 


*  Simpson,  Chapter  11/ 


12 

very  remote,  nor  is  it  difficult  of  detection.  If  we  mis- 
take not  it  consists  in  this,  that  the  great  and  essential 
element  in  all  investigations  touching  the  training  of  man, 
is  most  generally  either  overlooked,  or  not  allowed  to 
have  its  due  preponderance.  And  this  element  is  the  real 
nature  of  man,  and  the  true  purpose  of  his  being.  No 
system  of  education  can  be  a  wise  or  successful  one,  into 
which  these  all-important  considerations  do  not  fully 
enter.  The  etymology  of  the  word  alone,  if  we  would 
attend  to  it,  might  lead  us  to  this  conclusion.  To  edu- 
cate is  to  draw  forth  or  to  bring  out.  To  bring  out  what  ? 
Obviously  the  faculties  of  our  nature — all  the  faculties  of 
our  entire  nature.  To  draw  out  these  faculties,  then,  to 
direct  them  to  their  appropriate  objects,  and,  while  thus 
training  them,  to  put  the  subject  of  education  in  posses- 
sion of  all  the  knowledge  which  had  been  accumulated 
by  the  generations  of  men  who  had  gone  before, — this 
would  constitute  a  perfect  education.  But  such  perfec- 
tion, at  least  for  years  to  come,  we  fear,  can  be  contem- 
plated in  theory  only.  We  will  not  however  allow  it  to 
be  chimerical  to  anticipate  a  much  nearer  approach  to  it 
than  we  now  perceive.  One  obvious  fault  of  the  sys- 
tems of  education  which  have  had  the  greatest  currency 
amongst  men  is  that  the  intellectual  faculties  have  been 
in  a  manner  kept  distinct  from  the  moral  and  religious, 
and  have  too  generally  been  cherished  and  strengthened 
to  their  detriment.  Now  we  believe  that  all  the  constit- 
uent parts  of  the  one  nature  of  man  should  be  trained  in 
happy  harmony,  and  in  due  subordination  to  their  relative 
importance  in  accomplishing  the  great  end  of  his  being; 
and  we  will  affirm  that  the  art  of  education  will  never  be 
placed  upon  a  solid  foundation,  and  be  built  up  in  a  pro- 
gressive manner  as  other  arts  have  been,  until  this  truth 
is  appreciated  and  acted  on.  No  one  will  deny  that  a 
man  whose  intellectual  faculties  have  been  cultivated  to 


13 

the  neglect  of  his  moral,  will  exhibit  a  character  radically 
defective.  Furthermore,  we  who  take  the  Gospel  of 
Christ  as  our  rule  of  life,  are  fully  satisfied  that  no  moral 
training  can  be  thorough  or  secure,  which  is  not  fortified 
by  religious  principle.  It  is  not  therefore  pure  intellect 
alone,  or  the  moral  sense,  or  the  religious  sentiment,  that 
education  is  intended  to  draw  forth,  but  all,  and  all  as  we 
have  said,  in  subordination  to  the  great  end  of  his  being. 

Since  I  have  thought  seriously  upon  this  subject,  I 
have  often  admired  the  wisdom  and  felt  the  importance  of 
Milton's  words  in  liis  Tractate  upon  Education,  which, 
although  only  a  letter  addressed  to  a  friend,  detailing  the 
substance  of  previous  conversations  held  between  them, 
is  yet  worthy  the  attention  and  repeated  perusal  of  all 
who  are  concerned  in  education.  "  The  end  of  learning," 
says  the  great  poet,  "  is  to  repair  the  ruin  of  our  first  par- 
ents, by  regaining  to  know  God  aright,  and  out  of  that 
knowledge  to  love  him,  to  imitate  him,  to  be  like  him  as 
we  may  the  nearest  by  possessing  our  souls  of  true  virtue, 
which  being  united  to  the  Heavenly  grace  of  faith,  make 
up  the  highest  perfection.  But  because  our  understand- 
ing cannot  in  this  body  found  itself  but  on  sensible  things, 
nor  arrive  as  clearly  to  the  knowledge  of  God  and  things 
invisible  as  by  orderly  conning  over  the  visible  and  infe- 
rior creature,  the  same  method  is  to  be  followed  in  all 
discreet  teaching." 

To  the  same  eflfect  also,  although  not  in  a  tone  so 
Christian  like,  writes  Locke,  in  a  treatise  replete  with 
valuable  practical  suggestions  for  the  training  of  youth. 
"  'Tis  virtue  then,  direct  virtue,  which  is  the  hard  and 
valuable  part  to  be  aimed  at  in  education.  All  other  con- 
siderations and  accomplishments  should  give  way  and  be 
postponed  to  this.  This  is  the  solid  and  substantial  good, 
which  tutors  should  not  only  read  lectures,  and  talk  of ; 
but  the  labor  and  art  of  education  should  furnish  the  mind 


14 

with,  and  fasten  them,  and  never  cease  till  the  young  man 
had  a  true  relish  of  it,  and  placed  his  strength,  his  glory 
and  his  pleasure  in  it.  The  more  this  advances,  the  easier 
way  will  be  made  for  other  accomplishments  in  their 
turns."*  t 

Now  it  is  obvious  that  what  Milton  calls  the  end  of 
learning,  should  be  ke})t  in  constant  view  in  all  systems 
and  institutions  which  profess  to  promote  learning,  and 
that  so  far  forth  as  this  end  is  undervalued  or  lost  sight 
of,  such  systems  or  institutions  may  justly  be  regarded  as 
radically  defective.  Were  this  principle  to  be  strictly 
applied,  I  fear  that  there  are  few  seminaries  of  learning 
whose  course  of  instruction  and  discipline  could  abide  the 
test.  An  author  whom  I  have  before  quoted,  makes  this 
strong  and  unqualified  assertion.  "  No  sect  in  religion 
has  yet  addressed  itself  to  the  duty  of  teaching  the  nature 
of  man,  the  value  of  pursuits  in  life,  the  institutions  of 
society,  and  the  relation  of  all  these  to  the  religious  and 
moral  faculties  of  man."  This  condemnation  is  too  sweep- 
ing to  be  entirely  just,  and  if  amongst  what  he  calls  sects 
in  religion,  he  includes,  as  it  is  probable  he  does,  the 
Church,  we  might  in  some  few  instances  be  prepared  to 

*  Locke's  Works,  Vol.  TIL  page  26,  folio  edition. 

t  We  may  learn  something  of  the  paramount  importance  attributed  to 
moral  training  even  in  heathen  Rome,  and  of  the  mode  in  which  it  was 
cared  for,  by  a  passage  from  a  chapter  of  Tacitus,  in  which  he  places  in 
strong  contrast  the  ancient  discipline  with  the  degeneracy  of  later  times. 
"Jam  primum,  suus  cuique  filius,  ex  casta  parente  natus,  non  in  cella 
emptse  nutricis,  sed  gremio  ac  sinu  matris  educabatur,  cujus  praecipua 
laus  erat,  tueri  domum  et  inscrvire  liberis.  Eligebatur  autem  aliqua 
major  natu  propiruiua,  cujus  probatis  spcctatisque  moribus  omnis  cujus- 
piam  familiae  soboles  committeretur,  coram  qua  neque  dicere  fas  erat, 
quod  turpe  dictu,  neque  facerc,  quod  inhoncstum  factu  viderctur.  Ac 
non  studia  rnodo  curasque,  sed  remissiones  etiam  lususquc  puerorum 
sanctitate  quadam  ac  verecundia  temperabat.      ..... 

Haecdisciplina  ac  severitas  eo  pertinebat,  ut  sinceraet  integra  etnullis 
pravitatibus  detorta  uniiiscujusquo  natura  toto  statim  pectore  arriperet 
artes  honestas." — Be  Oratoribus  iJia/ogus,  §  28. 


15 

appeal  from  it.*  But  this  we  are  constrained  in  sorrow 
and  humiliation  to  affirm  again,  that  notwithstandino;  all 
that  has  been  said,  written,  and  attempted  in  relation  to 
education,  the  true  idea  of  it  is  as  yet  imperfectly  received 
amongst  men,  and  unsuccessfully  carried  out  in  places 
assigned  to  it.  The  true  idea  is  that  religion  is  "  the 
King's  daughter,  all  glorious  within,  whose  clothing  is  of 


*In  justice  to  luy  friend,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Muhlenberg,  I  must  here  state 
that  he  was  one  of  the  first,  if,  as  I  believe  to  be  the  fact,  he  was  not  the 
very  first  amongst  us  to  advocate  the  cause  of  Christian  Education  accord- 
ing to  a  positive  form  both  in  faith  and  worship.  And  at  great  sacrifice 
of  time  and  toil  and  property,  (if  indeed  that  can  be  called  sacrifice  which 
has  been  cheerfully  as  well  as  conscientiously  and  with  a  successful  re- 
sult devoted  to  so  good  a  work)  he  has  sought  to  carry  out  his  grand  prin- 
ciple. Upon  this  basis  the  Flushing  Institute  was  founded  in  I'^SO,  which 
has  since  become  St.  Paul's  College,  now  under  the  Rectorship  of  Mr. 
J.  G.  Barton,  one  of  Dr.  M.'s  earliest  pupils.  From  this  as  a  root  have 
sprung  St.  James's  College  and  St.  Timothy's  Hall,  Maryland,  respect- 
ively under  the  charge  of  the  Rev.  John  B.  Kerfoot  and  the  Rev.  Liber- 
tus  Van  Bokkelcn,  pupils  also  of  Dr.  M. — all  imbued  with  his  principles. 
And  now  under  the  auspices,  and  through  the  enlightened  zeal  and  un- 
tiring labors  of  my  friend  of  many  years,  the  Rt.  Rev.  the  Bishop  of  New 
Jersey,  Burlington  College  is  wisely  and  securely  laying  the  foundation 
of  an  institution  to  be  built  up  on  the  same  true  principle.  These  Sem- 
inaries of  learning  are  all  by  the  Church,  in  the  Church,  and  /or  the 
Church.  But  for  the  Church  in  no  narrow  sectarian  intention.  "  I  wish 
it  to  stand,"  says  Bishop  Doane  of  Burlington  College,  "  no  longer  than 
its  best  exertions  shall  be  made  for  every  real  interest  of  man.  I  desire 
God  to  bless  it  no  longer  than  it  shall  be  true  to  our  whole  country,  and 
true  to  all  mankind.  I  scorn  the  shield,  however  proud  its  blazonry 
may  be,  which  does  not  bear  the  blessed  scroll  to  every  wind  of  heaven  : 
Pro  ecclesia,  pro  patria,  pro  gcnere  hxnnaiio — For  the  church,  the 
COUNTRY  AND  ALL  HUMAN  KIND."  May  the  Spirit  of  this  motto  ever 
pervadi>  all  Church  seminaries  of  learning  !  There  are,  in  other  Dioceses, 
Colleges  and  Sciiools,  which  profess  the  same  great  principle,  but  I  speak 
of  those  only  in  this  note  of  which  1  have  some  personal  knowledge,  and 
I  have  spoken  at  all  to  this  point  only  for  the  purpose  of  bearing  my  hum- 
ble testimony  to  the  long  and  faithful  labors  and  large  pecuniary  sacrifices 
of  my  friend,  devoted  to  sustaining  a  principle  of  education  which  I  trust 
will  ere  long  be  universally  acknowledged  and  acted  on  by  the  Church. 


16 

wrought  gold,"*  and  the  virgins  that  do  follow  her  are  the 
arts  and  sciences,  and  as  her  inferiors  they  should  attend 
upon  and  minister  unto  her,  and  are  sufficiently  honored 
in  being  permitted  to  enter  with  her  into  the  King's  house. 
But  how  do  they  on  numberless  occasions  lose  their  mod- 
est demeanor,  and  forget  their  place,  and  one  or  another 
as  the  case  may  be,  strive  for  preeminence,  not  only 
amongst  themselves,  but  over  their  sacred  and  queenly 
mistress  ;  who,  if  not  treated  with  absolute  neglect  and 
banished  their  company,  is  Jooked  upon  as  patronized  by 
their  notice,  and  as  depending  upon  them  for  protection, 
and  almost  even  a  being. 

Friends  of  truth  and  righteousness,  of  sound  learning 
and  Christian  education,  it  is  for  us  to  vindicate  her  rights 
by  restoring  her  to  her  disputed  sovereignty,  and  giving 
her  the  chief  place  of  honor  and  of  influence  wherever 
youthful  minds  are  to  be  trained.  An  arduous  underta- 
king, I  acknowledge,  and  one  that  for  its  accomplishment 
will  demand  on  the  part  of  the  many  faithful  hearts  and 
minds  that  must  be  engaged  in  it,  consummate  prudence, 
and  untiring  zeal  and  patience  under  disappointment,  op- 
position and  delay.  It  cannot  be  accomplished  in  all 
places  at  once,  nor  in  every  community  with  equal  facil- 
ity and  success.  But  it  is  a  work  which  at  some  day  shall 
most  assuredly  be  triumphant,  for  it  is  the  purpose  of  Him 
who  hath  determined  that  "the  earth  shall  be  full  of  the 
knowledge  of  the  Lord  as  the  waters  cover  the  sea."t 
And  being  his  purpose,  he  has  committed  its  execution  to 
those  three  institutions  which  he  has  appointed  as  the 
visible  representations  of  his  economy  on  earth,  the  Fam- 
ily, the  State,  and  the  Church.  When  it  shall  come  to 
pass  that  these  three  work  together  with  common  intelli- 
gence, upon  a  common  principle  of  mutual  support,  and 
with  a  common  reference  to  one  great  law  and  its  sanc- 

*  Psalm  XLv,  13.  f  Isaiah,  xl.  9. 


17 

tinns,  the  Gospel  of  Christ,  then  will  the  true  idea  of  edu- 
cation be  universally  recognized,  and  its  Ijenign  influence 
be  felt,  and  each  rising-  generation  shall  succeed  to  greater 
measures  of  knowledge,  virtue,  prosperity  and  happiness 
than  their  fathers  enjoyed. 

But  these  abstract  and  speculative,  and,  as  they  may 
be  termed  by  some,  fanciful  reflexions,  are  in  danger  of 
leading  me  into  the  region  of  topics  which  cannot  be  fully 
or  satisfactorily  treated  within  tlie  limits  which  I  must 
prescribe  to  myself  on  the  present  occasion. 

I  may  however  venture  to  occupy  your  attention  a  little 
longer  while  I  attempt,  as  was  proposed  in  the  second 
place,  to  give  the  outline  of  a  plan  which  shall  be  a  prac- 
tical exemplification  of  the  true  idea  of  education  that  has 
now  been  aflJirmed,  though  by  no  means  fully  elaborated. 
This  idea  demands  that  all  the  faculties  of  the  one  nature 
of  man  should  be  trained  with  a  view  to  his  restoration, 
as  far  as  may  be,  to  that  Divine  image  in  which  he  was 
originally  created  ;  and  as  the  religious  sentiment  consti- 
tutes his  distinguishing  and  most  important  faculty,  this 
must  be  cherished  whatever  else  be  neglected,  and  in  due 
subordination  to  it  must  all  the  other  faculties  be  cultiva- 
ted.    Now  the  problem  is  so  to  connect  this  idea  with  a 
collegiate  institution,  as   to   make  it  the   hfe   principle 
thereof.     This  can  be  accomplished  as  I  can  conceive, 
only  in  one  way  ;    by  the  authority  and  with  the  aid 
OF  THE  Church  of  Christ  on  earth.      As  the  reliffious 
sentiment  h^is  been  committed  by  Him  who  made  man 
and  knew  what  was  in  him  to  the  charge  of  this  Church, 
and  as  for  this  purpose  he  has  endowed  the  Church  m  ith 
a  ministry  and  sacraments  and  the  custody  of  the  Holy 
Oracles  of  wisdom,  it  is  impossible  for  the  Church  to  trans- 
fer her  responsibility  to  any  oilier  institution,  and  more 
especially  to  one  of  acknowledged  human  origin.      She 
may  make  use  of  means  devised   by  human  wisdom,  to 

3 


18 

facilitate  the  o^reat  object,  but  she  cannot  divest  herself  of 
its  charge.  The  college,  then,  should  be  the  Church's 
institution,  founded  under  her  auspices,  built  up  under  the 
influence  of  her  prayers,  and  by  the  help  of  her  offerings, 
and  haA'ing  its  whole  course  of  instruction  and  internal 
police  devised  and  carried  on  in  accordance  with  her 
spirit.  Here  religion  will  be  the  chief  object  of  notice, 
and  the  source  of  all  healthful  discipline.  It  will  be  the 
central  light  and  the  attractive  power,  and  around  it  the 
arts  and  sciences  will  be  made  to  move  in  their  due  order 
and  relation,  acknowledging  this  as  the  revealer  of  their 
beauties  and  utilities,  the  source  of  their  warmth  and  life, 
and  the  great  regulator  of  their  beneficent  combinations 
and  mutual  influences.  And  furthermore  believing  that 
religion  can  thus  subsist  and  maintain  this  steady  and 
uniform  action  only  in  the  manifestation  of  some  positive 
form  both  of  faith  and  worship,  and  that  all  attempts  to 
reach  this  object  under  the  vague  statement  of  such  fun- 
damentals as  all  may  agree  in,  Jiave  heretofore  proved 
and  for  ever  must  prove  futile,  the  Church  should  dictate 
the  articles  of  faith  and  direct  the  mode  of  worship.  The 
collegiate  year  too  should  be  the  Church's  year — its  move- 
ments, its  succession  of  seasons,  its  weeks  of  work  and 
weeks  of  rest,  its  holy-days,  joyous  festivals,  and  self- 
denying  fasts,  all  going  on  in  well  known  rotation,  all 
tending  to  Him  who  is  the  fountain  of  knowledge,  of  order 
and  of  love,  and  seeking  to  make  his  blessed  life  on  earth 
the  exemplar  of  its  own.  And  all  this  may  be  devised 
and  should  be  carried  out  in  the  spirit  of  Christian  love, 
and  in  the  exercise  of  an  enlarged  tolerance.  While  the 
sons  of  the  Church  should  be  encouraged  and  exhorted  to 
observe  her  godly  discipline,  to  frequent  her  inner  courts 
and  assist  at  her  high  solemnities,  kindly  provision  should 
be  made  for  "  proselytes  of  the  gate,"  who  may  be  drawn 
hither,  and  full  liberty  of  faith  and  worship  be  conceded 
to  them. 


19 

This  great  principle,  moreover,  of  putting  a  seminary 
of  learning  under  the  direct  influence  ot  a  distinctive  faith 
and  worship,  which  I  would  contend  for  as  right  and  true 
in  the  abstract,  I  would  willingly  see  adopted  and  exem- 
plified by  those  who  hold  different  views  of  religious  truth 
from  myself.  And  I  honestly  believe  that  were  such  the 
avowed  policy  of  all  the  colleges  in  this  land,  as  in  fact  in 
some  of  them  it  is  the  operative  policy,  it  would  be  better 
for  the  cause  of  religion  and  learning,  and  for  that  too 
Avhich  is  so  much  talked  of  and  lauded  at  the  present  day, 
a  comprehensive  liberality.  That  unhappy  jealousy  which 
now  so  often  manifests  itself  in  the  management  of  our 
seminaries  of  learning,  lest  one  set  of  religious  opinions 
should  obtain  a  more  preponderating  influence  than  anoth- 
er, would  disappear.  Each  resting  quietly  upon  its  o\x\\ 
acknowledged  and  distinctive  character,  the  greatest  in- 
ternal obstacle  to  concentrated  and  harmonious  action 
would  be  removed,  and  thenceforward  the  diflferent  col- 
leges in  the  land  would  be  excited  only  to  a  generous 
rivalry  as  to  which  should  most  faithfully  fulfill  the  great 
designs  of  their  institution.  As  to  the  fear  that  seminaries 
of  learning  so  constituted  would  become  nurseries  of  bigot- 
ry and  fanaticism,  I  believe  it  to  be  entirely  groundless. 
Such  a  result,  wheresoever  it  should  manifest  itself,  would 
only  prove  a  woful  misapprehension  of  the  true  spirit  of 
the  Gospel,  or  a  wretchedly  narrow  cultivation  of  the 
liberal  arts  and  sciences.* 

But  again,  in  exhorting  the  church  to  assume  a  greater 
w^eight  of  the  responsibility  which  partly  belongs  to  her, 
and  in  pleading  for  her  restoration  to  her  ancient  privi- 
leges in  this  respect,  I  am  very  far  from  wishing  to  become 
the  advocate  of  priestly  rule.  He  must  have  been  a  very 
superficial  or  a  very  prejudiced  reader  of  ecclesiastical 

*  Adde,  quod  ingenuas  didicisse  fideliter  artes, 
EmoUit  mores,  nee  sinit  esse  feros. 

Ovid  Ex.  Pont.  Lib.  II.  Epist.  IX. 


20 

history  who  is  not  aware  of  the  evils  to  which  pure  reh- 
gion  and  sound  learning  and  progressive  science  have  all 
been  subjected  from  this  source.  In  the  present  age,  and 
under  our  happy  constitution  of  government,  giving  pre- 
cedence to  no  religious  persuasion,  but  conceding  equal 
rights  to  all,  there  can  be  no  just  apprehension  of  such 
dangler.  And  moreover  in  a  church  organized  as  is  our 
own,  where  the  laity  have  a  voice  potential  in  our  coun- 
cils, all  tendency  to  sacerdotal  domination  would  be  re- 
pressed as  soon  as  discovered. 

This  principle  too,  which  we  advocate,  and  which  we 
would  see  carried  out  to  its  rightful  results,  is  no  newly 
started  theory.  It  was  the  foundation  principle  of  the 
oldest  and  most  renowned  seminaries  of  the  land.  Har- 
vard College  was  established  upon  it,  and  the  spirit  and 
intention  of  the  founders  of  that  noble  institution  still 
speak  forth  in  the  language  of  the  motto  of  its  public 
seal.  And  what  is  not  a  little  remarkable,  the  successive 
changes  in  this  motto  seem  to  manifest  the  progress  of 
truth  in  the  gradual  development  of  a  sound  principle. 
First  it  was  *'  Veritas"  simply.*  To  this  divine  but  ab- 
stract idea,  was  the  institution  as  it  were,  consecrated. 
But  we  may  imagine  some  Pilate  demanding  in  contempt- 
uous skepticism,  "What  is  truth?"!  The  wise  and  holy 
men  who  controlled  the  destinies  of  the  college  could  not 
hesitate  for  an  instant  in  their  reply.  The  truth  which 
they  would  confess  alone  to  be  such,  and  the  truth  which 
they  exclusively  would  teach  was  "  In  Christi  gloriam." 
This  then  displaced  the  vague  generality.  But  it  soon 
was  felt  that  as  the  chief  glory  of  Christ  upon  earth  was 
manifested  in  his  church,  with  his  blessed  name  there 
should  be  associated  that  of  his  beloved  and  acknowledged 
spouse,  and  "Christo  et  Ecclesise"  was  emblazoned  on 

•  See  President  Quincy's  History  of  Harvard  College,  Vol.  I.,  p.  49. 

t  John  xviii.  38. 


21 

the  honored  shield.  And  always  and  every  where  may 
the  spirit  of  this  motto  rightly  understood,  sanctify  the 
fountains  of  human  learning  and  make  them  as 

«'  Siloa's  brook  that  flow'd 
Fast  by  the  oracle  of  God."* 

The  next  ])orn  sister  of  New  England,  younger  in  years 
b\it  not  perhaps  inferior  in  literary  labors  and  renown, 
sprang  into  being  under  the  same  holy  impulse.  The 
preamble  of  the  Charter  of  Yale  College  proclaims  as  the 
leading  motive  of  its  establishment,  "  a  sincere  regard  to 
and  zeal  for  upholding  and  propagating  of  the  Christian 
Protestant  religion,  by  a  succession  of  learned  orthodox 
men,"t  and  the  very  first  act  of  the  Trustees  under  this 
Charter  was  to  take  order  for  the  rehgious  education  of  its 
students. 

This  idea  of  the  sacred  and  indissoluble  connexion 
between  religion  and  learning  thus  recognized  in  the  earh- 
est  and  most  successful  attempts  to  estabhsh  education 
firmly  on  our  soil,  by  the  civil  and  religious  fathers  of 
Ncw^  England,  was  by  them  brought  from  the  Universities 
of  their  native  land,  in  which  so  many  of  them  had  been 
taught,  and  for  which  they  ever  cherished  deep  veneration 
and  love.  That  it  is  there  still  watched  and  guarded 
WMth  holy  zeal  as  the  ark  of  their  safety  we  know,  and 
may  no  want  of  wisdom  or  of  vigilance  within,  and  no 
sacrilegious  violence  from  without,  ever  wrest  it  from 
them. 

The  church,  then,  we  affirm  to  be  the  appropriate 
guardian  and  guide  of  education ;  and  with  all  who  be- 
lieve that  God  has  given  to  man  such  an  institution,  what- 
ever views  they  may  respectively  hold  of  its  essential  form, 
this  should  be  received  not  as  a  proposition  to  be  proved 
but  as  an  axiom  of  truth. 

♦Milton.  t  Baldwin's  History  of  Yale  College,  p.  13,  21. 


22 

Having  thus  in  our  imaginary  plan  named  the  sub- 
stance and  sketched  the  form  of  the  foundation  we  would 
lay,  let  us  look  briefly  at  the  principles  by  which  we  would 
raise  the  superstructure. 

A  collegiate  or  liberal  education,  as  it  is  termed,  stands 
between  an  elementary  and  a  professional  one,  having  an 
important  influence  upon  both,  but  requiring  to  be  kept,  so 
far  as  practicable,  distinct  from  either.     To  the  one  it  is 
in  the  place  of  a  parent,  to  the  other  in  that  of  a  child. 
To  elementary  education  it  is  a  parent,  as  having  brought 
forth  and  nourished  all  the  processes  by  which  it  is  con- 
ducted.     Were  it  not  for  the  higher  education,  the  lower 
could  never  have  been  advanced  to  its  present  condition. 
Those  therefore  who  look  with  jealousy  upon  our  colleges, 
who  contend  against  the  expediency  of  affording  them 
liberal  endowments  under  the  pretence  that  it  is  favoring 
the  few  at  the  expense  of  the  many,  and  who  are  liberal 
in  their  views  of  expenditure  towards  common  schools,  as 
being  for  the  benefit  of  the  people,  while  they  stint  our 
colleges,  and  in  some  instances  would  deprive  them  even 
of  their  present  resources,  betray  a  lamentable  ignorance 
of  the  true  policy  of  administering  the  educational  system 
of  a  community.    Did  they  apply  to  this  question  enlarged 
and  intelligent  views,  they  would  at  once  perceive  that 
there  is  no  more  effectual  method  of  improving  common 
schools  and  elevating  the  mass  of  the  people  in  knowledge, 
than  by  enlarging  the  means  of  collegiate  education.     In 
a  country  blessed  with  free  institutions  as  ours  is,  it  is  im- 
possible to  advance  one  class  of  the  community  in  know- 
ledge and  virtue  at  the  expense  of  the  others.     There  is  a 
reciprocal  action  constantly  going  on  among  them.     The 
higher  the  grade  of  instruction  given  in  our  colleges,  the 
more  surely  its  effects,  flowing  down  through  those  who 
are  educated  in  them,  and  who  mingle  afterwards  with 
their  fellow  citizens  in  all  the  oflices  of  social  life,  will  be 


23 

felt  in  the  improved  condition  of  the  common  schools. 
And  attain,  in  proportion  as  the  common  schools  are  bet- 
ter taught,  the  academies  and  classical  schools  will  rise  in 
the  scale  of  improvement,  and  the  preparatory  studies  for 
college  in  these  being  wider  and  more  thorough,  the  terms 
of  admission  into  our  colleges  may  be  extended,  and  of 
course  their  whole  scheme  of  study  be  made  to  embrace 
a  wider  range.  But  abolish  colleges  or  institutions  for 
higher  learning,  or  cramp  them  in  their  efforts  for  im- 
provement, and  the  deleterious  influence  will  be  felt 
through  all  grades  of  seminaries  of  learning,  down  to  the 
very  primary  schools  for  training  the  infant  mind. 

As  the  influence  of  the  college,  rightly  directed,  should 
be  to  foster  and  expand  all  the  educational  institutions 
which  in  regular  gradation  descend  from  it,  so  its  actual 
system  of  discipline  and  instruction  should  be  a  rigid  pre- 
paration for  professional  studies  or  the  pursuits  of  adult 
years.  Therefore  in  a  college  which  would  exemplify  the 
true  idea  of  education,  many  departments  of  learning 
should  be  cultivated,  which  though  not  to  be  directly  em- 
ployed in  professional  life,  have  yet  an  important  bearing 
upon  its  success.  There  has  been  a  tendency  in  some  of 
our  liigher  seminaries  of  learning,  to  relax  the  ancient 
system  of  scholastic  discipline  by  encouraging  what  are 
called  partial  courses  of  instruction,  through  an  undue 
anxiety  to  gratify  the  utilitarian  spirit  of  the  age,  and  to 
hasten  forw^ard  the  young  aspirants  towards  their  respect- 
ive permanent  pursuits  in  life.  Hence  often,  classical 
studies,  and  general  philosophy,  and  even  pure  mathemat- 
ics are  not  honored,  encouraged  and  promoted  as  they 
should  be.  The  demand  is  for  such  particular  studies 
and  such  an  extent  alone  of  familiarity  \\'\\h  tiiem,  as  may 
be  made  instantly  and  obviously  available  ;  and  by  yield- 
ing to  this  demand,  encouragement  is  given  to  superficial 
education,  and  the  very  end  proposed,  that  of  making  well 


24 

informed  and  efficient  'practical  men  for  the  varied  uses 
of  social  life,  is  thus  seriously  interfered  with. 

This  however  is  not  a  recent  evil,  nor  one  fostered,  as 
some  might  suppose,  by  our  peculiar  institutions,  for 
Lord  Bacon  detects  it  and  thus  reproves  it :  "If  any  man 
thinke  Philosphy  and  Universality  to  bee  idle  studies  ;  he 
doth  not  consider  that  all  Professions  are  from  thence 
served,  and  supplyed.  And  this  I  take  to  bee  a  great 
Cause  that  hath  hindered  the  progression  of  learning,  be- 
cause these  fundamental  knowledges  have  been  studied 
but  in  passage.  For  if  you  will  have  a  tree  bear  more 
fruit  than  it  hath  been  used  to  do,  it  is  not  any  thing  you 
can  do  to  the  boughs,  but  it  is  the  stirring  of  the  earth, 
and  putting  new  moulde  about  the  Rootes,  that  must 
worke  it."*  In  a  subsequent  age,  and  one  much  nearer 
to  our  own  times,  another  distinguished  scholar,  and  able 
writer,  was  led  to  remark  upon  the  same  unhappy  ten- 
dency in  seminaries  of  learning  to  slight  scholastic  studies 
in  eagerness  to  engage  in  professional  ones.  His  earnest 
words  addressed  to  the  students  of  the  universities  of  our 
mother-land,  but  equally  worthy  of  our  attention,  I  am 
glad  to  rescue  from  a  note  in  an  almost  forgotten  book. 
"  I  would  call  the  rising  youth  of  this  country  to  the  in- 
tense, and  frequent,  and  unremitting  study  of  the  ancient 
classical  writers  as  their  primary  choice.  I  call  upon 
them  to  have  the  courage  to  be  ignorant  of  many  subjects, 
and  many  authors,  at  their  inestimable  age.  I  exhort 
them  affectionately,  as  a  matter  of  the  most  serious  im- 
portance, never  to  pretend  to  study,  in  their  first  academ- 
ical years,  what  they  design  as  the  ultimate  end  of  their 
labors,  I  mean,  their  profession.  Their  whole  business  is 
to  lay  the  foundation  of  knowledge,  original,  sound,  and 
strong.  They  who,  by  a  patient  continuance  and  undi- 
verted attention  to  academical  studies  alone,  have  sought 

♦  Of  the  Advancement  of  Learning.    The  Second  Booke. 


0-. 


for  the  original  materials  of  science  and  of  solid  fame, 
have  seldom  failed  in  their  great  pursuit."*  The  leading 
point  to  which  1  wish  to  direct  attention  in  this  eloquent 
passage,  is  its  enforcement  of  the  necessity  of  making  the 
course  of  collegiate  studies  strictly  and  thoroughly  pre- 
paratory. I  sympathize  with  the  author  in  his  warm  ap- 
proval of  classical  studies,  but  I  am  by  no  means  prepared 
to  recommend  them,  as  he  seemingly  does  here,  to  the 
exclusion  of  mathematical  and  philosophical  pursuits  as 
a  discipline  of  the  mind.  The  comparative  merits  of  the 
two  in  this  regard,  is  a  question,  we  know,  long  mooted 
and  still  unsettled.  I  do  not  design  however  to  obtrude 
myself  into  this  discussion.  Had  I  even  the  presumption 
to  suppose  myself  capable  of  throwing  any  additional 
light  upon  it,  I  would  not  consent  to  treat  it  in  so  per- 
functory a  manner  as  would  be  necessary  at  this  period 
of  my  address,  I  may  venture  nevertheless  to  say,  in 
passing,  that  the  peculiar  benefit  of  classical  or  mathe- 
matical studies,  considered  as  intellectual  gymnastics, 
must  after  all  be  decided  by  a  careful  reference  to  the 
idiosyncracy  of  the  mind  that  is  to  be  placed  under  disci- 
pline. Sir  John  Herschel,  in  treating  of  this  question, 
has  well  observed  that  "  there  are  minds  which  though 
not  devoid  of  reasoning  powers,  yet  manifest  a  decided 
inaptitude  for  mathematical  studies — minds  which  are 
estimative  not  calculating,  and  which  are  more  impressed 
by  analogies,  and  by  apparent  preponderance  of  general 
evidence  in  argument  than  by  mathematical  demonstra- 


*  Pursuits  of  Literature,  page  264  American  edition.  This  powerful 
satirical  poem,  with  its  learned,  copious,  and  much  amusing  notes,  wor- 
thy the  attentive  perusal  of  all  who  are  engaged  in  the  higher  depart- 
ments of  teaching,  has  been  sometimes  ascribed  to  GifTord,  and  is  so  by 
Watt  in  his  Bibliotheca.  But  it  contains  internal  evidence  in  sundry 
places  to  the  contrary.     Matthias  is  now,  I  believe,  the  acknowledged 

author. 

4 


26 

tion,  where  all  argument  is  on  one  side,  and  no  show  of 
reason  can  be  exliibited  on  the  other."* 

This  fact,  then,  will  have  its  full  influence  in  every  well 
de\-ised  scheme  of  education,  and  while  the  subject  of 
college  training  and  the  candidate  for  college  honors 
will  not  be  allowed  to  be  ignorant  of  the  chief  classical 
writers  in  Latin  and  Greek,  and  of  the  general  principles 
of  mathematics  and  their  applications,  the  degree  of  at- 
tention to  be  given  to  these  studies  respectively  will  be 
measured  l)y  the  intellectual  faculties  which  shall  be 
manifested  by  each  student. 

But  while  thus,  according  to  our  idea  of  collegiate  edu- 
cation, an  unremitting  attention  should  be  given  to  stud- 
ies the  chief  objects  of  which  are  intellectual  discipline 
and  what  we  may  call  preparatory  knowledge,  there  are 
other  branches  of  knowledge  which  must  not  be  neg- 
lected,— branches  which  are  more  immediately  called 
into  requisition  in  social  life,  and  without  a  competent 
acquaintance  with  which  no  one  can  be  esteemed  thorough- 
ly educated. 

The  present  distinguished  master  of  Trinity  College, 
Cambridge,  in  his  admirable  treatise  upon  a  liberal  edu- 
cation, has  very  happily  distinguished  between  the  two, 
and  described  them  as  Permanent  and  Progressive  Studies. 
"  To  the  former  belong  those  portions  of  knowledge 
which  have  long  taken  their  permanent  shape ;  ancient 
languages  with  their  literature,  and  long  established  demon- 
strated sciences.  To  the  latter  class  belong  the  results  of 
the  mental  activity  of  our  own  times  ;  the  hterature  of  our 
owTi  age,  and  the  sciences  in  which  men  are  making  pro- 
gress from  day  to  day.  The  former  class  of  subjects 
cormects  us  with  the  past ;  the  latter  with  the  present  and 


•  Views  on  Scientific  and  General  Education,  by  Sir  John  Herschel, 
F.  R.  S.,  M.  A.,  as  quoted  in  Newman's  translation  of  Huber  on  the 
English  Universities,  Vol.  II.  part  II.  p.  645. 


27 

the  future.  By  the  former  class  of  studies,  each  rising 
generation,  in  its  turn,  learns  how  former  generations 
thought,  and  felt,  and  reasoned,  and  expressed  their 
thoughts,  and  feelings,  and  reasonings.  By  the  latter 
class  of  studies,  each  generation  learns  that  thought,  and 
feeling,  and  reasoning,  are  still  active,  and  is  prepared  to 
take  a  share  in  the  continuation  and  expression  of  this 
activity.  Both  these  kinds  of  studies  give  man  a  con- 
scious connexion  with  his  race.  By  the  former  he  be- 
comes conscious  of  a  past,  by  the  latter,  of  a  present,  hu- 
manity."* 

In  these  progressive  studies  we  include  those  which 
treat  of  the  nature  and  propensities  of  man  as  developed 
in  the  history  of  nations  and  the  biograjihy  of  individuals; 
the  constitutions  of  human  society  including  our  respon- 
sibilities to  individuals  and  to  the  community  of  which  we 
are  members  ;  the  general  principles  of  political  economy 
and  of  jurisprudence  ;  the  nature  and  constitution  of  the 
earth  we  inhabit — its  animal,  vegetable,  and  mineral  pro- 
ductions, and  their  uses  and  propensities  as  subservient 
to  human  wants ;  and  the  relation  of  this  earth  to  the 
system  of  the  Universe  as  manifested  in  the  sublime  dis- 
coveries of  modern  astronomy.  Amongst  these  studies 
those  which  bring  into  view  the  social  relations  of  man 
are  obviously  of  the  highest  importance,  especially  in  a 
country  where  free  institutions  are  the  blessed  birthright 
of  the  people,  and  where  every  man  is  called  to  the  re- 
sponsible duty  of  protecting  them  by  his  vote,  and  often 
to  the  more  responsible  duty  of  managing  them  by  being 
made  the  depository  of  legislative,  judicial  or  executive 
power.  As  to  the  studies  which  are  embraced  under  the 
general  head  of  Natural  Science,  they  are  not  only  of 

*  Of  a  Liberal  Education  in  general ;  and  with  particular  reference  to 
the  leading  studies  of  the  University  of  Cambridge.  By  William  Whe- 
well,  D.  D.,  Master  of  Trinity  College,  and  Professor  of  Moral  Philoso- 
phy in  the  University  of  Cambridge.     Chapter  I.,  Sec.  I.,  p.  7. 


28 

deep  interest  in  themselves,  as  exciting  and  gratifying  an 
intelligent  curiosity,  but  they  prefer  higher  claim?  upon 
our  attention.  "Natural  science,  when  pursued  with  a 
right  spirit,  will  foster  the  reasoning  powers,  and  teach 
us  knowledge  fitted  at  once  to  impress  the  imagination, 
to  bear  on  the  business  of  hfe,  and  to  give  us  exalted 
views  of  the  universal  presence  and  unceasing  power  of 
God."* 

Thus  it  will  be  seen  that  in  rnifoldins:  our  idea  of  a 
sound   collegiate   education,  while  we  would  have  the 
principal  attention  given  to  the  religious  and  moral  fac- 
ulties, and  then  to  the  training  of  the  intellectual  powers, 
we  would  also  aim  at  as  extensive  a  knowledge  as  can  be 
grasped  and  conveyed  in  an  elementary  course,  of  the 
actual  system  and  laws   of  nature,   both  physical  and 
moral,  and  the  means  of  adapting  this  system  and  these 
laws  to  the  elevation  of  man's  social  condition.     When 
judiciously  and  faithfully  administered,  the  benign  ten- 
dency of  such  education  will  be  to  bring  out  all  the  fac- 
ulties of  the  youth  who  is  placed  under  its  direction ; 
those  that  are  weak  in  fibre  will  be  strengthened  by  ap- 
propriate exercises  ;  those  that  have  marked  developments 
will  be  trained  to  graceful  and  appropriate  movements  ; 
amongst  those  that  threaten  irregular  action  from  want 
of  a  just  counterpoise,  the  balance  will  be  restored  ;  and 
thus  while  the  chief  hope  and  eflTort  will  be  to  make  "  the 
man  of  God  perfect,  thoroughly  furnished  unto  all  good 
works,"t  there  will  be  no  neglect  of  means  or  exertion 
to  make  the  intellectual  man  symmetrical  and  strong, 
fitted  to  encounter  all  that  he  may  be  exposed  to  in  the 
combat  of  life. 

But  when  I  speak  of  the  combat  of  life,  and  of  the 


*  A  Discourse  on  the  Studies  of  the  University,  by  Adam  Sedgwick, 
M.  A.,  F.  R.  S.,  and  Woodwardian  Professor,  and  Fellow  of  Trinity  Col- 
lege, Cambrids^c.     Appendix  p.  155. 

t  II.  Timothy,  III.  17. 


29 

intellectual  trainino;-  that  is  essential  to  entering^  into  it 
with  a  reasonable  prospect  of  success,  I  am  reminded 
that  there  is  another  constituent  part  of  man  which  de- 
mands, though  not  1o  an  equal  degree,  the  superintend- 
ing care  of  education ;  and  this  is  his  physical  constitu- 
tion.    Were  I  to  say  that  its  healthful  or  diseased  condi- 
tion exerts  a  very  powerful  and  obvious  influence,  not 
only  upon  the  comfort  of  his  daily  life,  but  upon  the 
growth  of  his  intellectual,  moral,  and  even  religious  facul- 
ties, I  should  be  only  repeating  what  has  been  said  a 
thousand  times  over  upon  that  trite  theme,  "  mens  sana  in 
corp07-e  sano."     But  yet  I  will  ask,  has  this  subject  re- 
ceived by  any  means  the  attention  its  importance  de-. 
mands  ?     From  all  I  can  learn  and  have  observed,  it  is 
treated  with  greater  neglect  amongst  us,  both  by  educa- 
ted  men  and  youth  in  the  process  of  education,  than 
amongst  any  other  civilized  people.     Whether  it  be  from 
the  effect  of  climate,  or  from  some  peculiarity  of  consti- 
tution, I  know  not,  but  the  fact  is  certain  that  our  young 
men,  in  colleges  especially,  are  too  little  disposed  to  take 
that  amount  of  exercise  which  is  absolutely  needful  for 
health.     The  consequence  is  that  we  have  a  larger  pro- 
portion of  feeble  and  sickly  students,  and  of  men  break- 
ing down  in  the  early  stages  of  professional  life,  than  is 
found  in  other  countries.     How  different  the  habits  of 
English  college  life  are,  let  me  show  by  adducing  the  tes- 
timony of  a  scholar  who,  after  spending  a  portion  of  his 
time  in  one  of  the  chief  and  the  most  populous  of  our 
American  colleges,  passed  several  years  in  the  University 
of  Cambridge,      "  There  is  one  great  point  where  the 
English  have  the   advantage   over  us  :  they  understand 
how  to  take  care  of  their  health.     Every  Cantabrigian 
takes   his   two   hours   exercise  per    diem,  by  walking, 
riding,    rowing,  fencing,  gymnastics,  &c.      How  many 
colleges  are  there  here  where  the  students  average  one 
hour  a  day  of  real  exercise  ?     In  New  England  the  last 


30 

thinsf  thouofht  of  is  exercise — even  the  mild  walks  which 
are  dignified  with  the  name  of  exercise,  how  unlike  the 
Cantabrigian's  constitutional  of  eight  miles  in  less  than 
two  hours  !  And  the  consequence  is — what  ?  There  is 
not  a  finer  looking  set  of  young  men  in  the  world  than 
the  Cantabs,  and  as  to  health — why,  one  hundred  and 
thirty  freshmen  enter  at  Trinity  every  year,  and  it  is  no 
unfrequcnt  occurrence  that,  whatever  loss  they  may  sus- 
tain from  other  causes,  death  takes  away  none  of  them 
during  the  three  years  and  a  half  which  comprise  their 
undergraduate  course."* 

Now  what  remedy  can  be  proposed  for  the  mitigation 
or  the  cure  of  this  acknowledged  evil  ?  Compulsory 
measures  are  of  course  out  of  the  question.  Discipline 
which  it  may  be  highly  expedient  to  apply  under  certain 
circumstances  for  the  quickening  of  mental  effort,  could 
answer  no  good  purpose  in  this  relation.  All  that  can  be 
done  then,  is  to  enforce  the  necessity  for  bodily  exer- 
cise upon  our  students,  and  supply  them  with  suitable 
facihties  for  its  practice.  We  learn  that  this  has  been 
attempted  in  some  of  our  literary  institutions  by  means 
of  farms  and  workshops.  I  would  by  no  means  under- 
value such  attempts — on  the  contrary,  in  carrying  out 
the  system  now  suggested,  I  would  propose  that  space  of 
ground,  and  opportunity,  for  horticulture,  if  not  agricul- 
ture, should  be  furnished  for  all  those  who  felt  drawn  to 
these  health-giving  and  useful  pursuits,  and  that  accom- 
modation also  should  be  supplied  for  those  who  in  the  in- 
clement season  of  winter  would  seek  for  exercise  by  the 
saw,  the  hammer,  or  the  turning  lathe.  But  still  I  am 
not  utilitarian  enough  to  despise  plays  which  are  nothing 
more  than  plays ;  and  which  on  account  of  the  greater 
relaxation  of  the  mental  powers  they  induce,  the  freer 
use  of  all  the  muscles  they  occasion,  and  the  joyousness 

•  American  Review,  Vol.  V.  p.  354. 


31 

of  spirits  they  excite,  I  should  prefer  for  students  to  j)lay- 
ing  at  farming  or  trades.  I  would  encourage,  then,  the 
ball  ground,  the  cricket  field,  and  the  boat  race,  and  re- 
joice to  see  on  classic  soil,  sports  that  should  recall  the 
graphic  descriptions  of  the  classic  page. 

For  example,  on  occasions  like  the  present  festival 
week,  in  order  to  exhibit  what  improvements  the  physical 
exercise  of  a  year  had  produced,  I  would  be  reminded  of 
the  boat  race,  the  poet's  animated  description  of  which 
even  school  boys  must  remember. 

Prima  pares  ineunt  gravibus  certamina  remis, 
Quatuor,  ex  omni  dilectae,  classe.carince. 

Vir.  Mneid.  V.  114. 

Then  when  all  are  ready,  the  active  youths 

Considunt  transtris  intentaque  brachia  remis : 
Intentique  expectant  signum,  exultantiaque  haurit 
Corda  pavor  pulsans,  laudumque  arrecta  cupido. 

JEneid.  V.  136. 

Nor  amidst  the  beautiful  scenery  which  surrounds  yon- 
der favored  spot,  and  recalls  to  us  the  Elysian  fields, 
w'ould  it  be  displeasing  to  see  them  occasionally  animated 
with  Elysian  sports. 

Pars  in  gramineis  exercent  membra  jialscstris  ; 
Contendunt  ludo,  et  I'ulvd  luctantur  arena. 

.^ndd.  VI.  G42. 

And  the  consequence  would  be,  that,  were  athletic  ex- 
ercises like  these  encouraged  and  practised  as  a  stated 
relaxation  from  hard  study,  and  were  the  fields  and  groves, 
the  shady  walks,  and  breezy  hills,  and  rippling  and  run-" 
ning  waters,  associated  with  a  healthiul,  vigorous  and. 
joyous  existence,  the  memory  of  a  college  life  would  in- 
deed be  as  that  of  an  Elysian  abode,  and  the  words  which 


32 

precede  my  last  quotation  would  well  describe  the  happy 
haunts  of  a  well  spent  youth. 

Devenere  locos  latos,  et  amoena  vireta, 
Foituiiatorum  neniorum,  sedesque  beatas. 
Largior  hie  campos  aether  et  lumine  vestit, 
Purpureo ;  solemque  suum,  sua  sidera  norunt. 

Virgil,  JEn.  VI.  63S. 

But  gentlemen,  it  is  time  to  bring  this  already  too  long, 
and  I  fear  too  discursive  address,  to  its  end.  I  have  ven- 
tured to  speak  thus  much  and  thus  in  detail  upon  a  sub- 
ject, which,  how  trite  soever,  can  never  lose  its  interest 
with  those  who  watch  and  wish,  and  labor  and  pray,  as  I 
trust  we  all  do,  for  the  progress  of  man  in  the  better 
training  of  the  rising  generation.  I  decided  to  attempt 
the  treatment  of  this  subject  after  much  hesitation,  not 
however  in  consequence  of  any  distrust  of  the  principles  I 
should  maintain,  or  the  measures  I  should  propose,  but 
through  fear  that  the  inability  of  the  advocate  might  injure 
the  cause,  and  that  I  might  subject  myself,  disconnected 
as  I  am  with  the  administrative  care  of  education,  to  the 
charge  of  presumption  in  assuming  the  position  of  an 
adviser.  As  'a  Fellow  of  Trinity  College,  however, 
I  have  felt  that  I  had  a  responsible  duty  to  discharge, 
and  as  a  member  of  the  House  of  Convocation,  and  one  of 
the  older  members,  I  have  been  not  unwilling  to  take  the 
responsibihty  of  setting  the  example  of  trying  to  make 
this  a  place  of  trust. 

Certainly,  gentlemen,  we  who  have  the  honor  of  be- 
longing to  this  House  of  Convocation,  if  we  would  not 
unworthily  content  ourselves  with  enjoying  an  empty  dis- 
tinction, should  feel  it  to  be  incumbent  upon  us,  each  in 
his  degree,  and  according  to  his  ability  and  opportunity, 
to  contribute  something  for  the  advancement  of  this  sem- 
inary of  learning  with  which  we  are  associated.  I  have 
not  intended,  nor  could  I  have  the  presumption,  to  find 


33 

fault  with  the  general  system  of  instruction  and  discipline 
that  has  been  pursued  here,  and  whicli  is  substantially 
the  same  with  that  which  prevails  in  all  the  higher  sem- 
inaries of  learning  in  our  country.  Under  the  faithful 
labors  of  the  able  officers  who  have  now  and  who  have 
heretofore  had  the  responsible  management  of  Trinity 
College,  the  results,  taking  into  view  the  limited  numbers 
of  those  who  have  been  induced  to  resort  here  for  educa- 
tion, are  such  as  its  founders  and  patrons  have  full  reason 
to  be  satisfied  with  ;  and  following  the  subsequent  career 
of  those  who  have  graduated  at  this  institution,  the  Church, 
which  finds  them  constituting  one  twelfth  of  those  who 
serve  at  her  altars,  must  gratefully  acknowledge  that  it 
has  not  existed  or  labored  in  vain. 

Much  then  has  been  accomplished  for  which  we  should 
render  our  devout  thanks  to  the  iVlmighty,  "  whose  inspir- 
ation giveth  man  understanding."  But  the  friends  of 
Trinity  College  mu.st  not  content  themselves  with  this. 
Their  constant  thought  in  relation  to  this  place  of  educa- 
tion must  be  of  progress,  and  their  zealous  efforts  must  be 
stirred  up  to  promote  those  wise  measures  which  shall 
secure  progress. 

Can  any  thing  then  be  proposed  in  conformity  with  the 
principles  which  have  thus  imperfectly  been  set  forth, 
which  may  tend  to  give  a  fuller  development  to  the  true 
idea  of  education,  in  that  institution  to  which  we  owe  our 
allegiance,  under  whose  auspices  we  are  assembled,  and 
for  whose  welfare  we  are  to  consult  and  advise  ?  This, 
gentlemen,  is  a  question  for  your  decision ;  were  I  to  ad- 
vance any  farther  into  the  detail  of  proposed  alterations, 
you  might  then  justly  accuse  me  of  presumption.  I  may 
observe,  however,  that  one  principle  for  which  I  have  con- 
tended, has  been  to  a  certain  extent  carried  out  here.  In 
the  address  of  last  year  it  was  stated  that  "  this  principle 
has  been  recognized  and  has  found  expression  in  llie  giv- 


34 

ing  to  our  college  as  her  name  henceforward  through  all 
time,  the  thrice  sacred  name  of  the  most  blessed  Trinity." 
Previously  she  bore  an  honored  name, — none  in  my 
judgment  worthy  of  higher  earthly  distinction.  And  so 
far  forth  as  that  name  called  upon  the  sons  of  Washing- 
ton College  to  emulate  the  wisdom,  the  prudence,  the 
high  morality,  and  the  noble  patriotism  of  him  who  will 
ever  stand  the  very  first  upon  the  page  of  his  country's 
history,  and  amongst  the  chief  of  the  great  and  good  on 
that  of  the  world's  history,  it  was  an  influential  as  well  as 
an  honored  appellation.  But  in  view  of  the  name  by 
which  our  college  is  now  called,  all  earthly  distinctions 
and  the  emulation  of  the  most  exalted  human  virtues  sink 
to  nothing  and  less  than  nothing.  Dedicated  to  the  Holy 
Trinity,  all  who  are  connected  with  this  seminary  should 
feel  that  they  are  pledged  to  the  service  of  the  Triune 
God,  and  that  every  department  of  learning,  here  taught, 
is  to  be  made  subservient  to  extending  the  faith  and  wor- 
ship of  God  the  Father  who  made  man,  God  the  Son  who 
redeemed  him,  and  God  the  Holy  Ghost  who  sanctifies 
him.  May  His  blessing  ever  rest  upon  all  these  and  upon 
all  who  shall  pray  and  vow  in  its  behalf — "  Peace  be 
within  thy  walls  and  plenteousness  within  thy  palaces. 
For  my  brethren  and  companions'  sakes,  I  will  wish  thee 
prosperity.  Yea,  because  of  the  house  of  the  Lord  our 
God,  I  will  seek  to  do  thee  good."     Psalm  cxxii.  7-9. 


APPENDIX. 

Extract  from  the  Col/ege   Calendar. 


Trinity  College,  Hartford,  is  an  academic  Society,  of  which 
llie  control  is  vested  in  a  Corporation,  Icnown  in  law  by  the  style 
or  title  of  The  Trustees  of  Trinity  College. 

The  design  of  a  College  in  New  England,  connected  with  the 
church  of  the  mother  country,  and  so  far  as  possible  modelled  after 
its  celebrated  universities,  originated  with  the  excellent  Berkeley, 
Bishop  of  Cloyne,  who  with  this  view  purchased  an  estate,  and 
resided  for  sometime  in  Rhode  Island.  Though  he  was  compelled 
reluctantly  to  relinquish  his  project,  it  was  nevertheless  not  entirely 
without  fruits.  To  his  example  and  benefactions  may  be  traced 
much  of  that  interest  in  sound  learning  and  Christian  education 
which  led  to  the  first  efforts  for  the  establishment  of  a  similar  insti- 
tution in  Connecticut. 

A  Convocation  of  the  Clergy  of  the  Diocese,  held  in  1792,  under 
Seabl'ry,  first  Bishop  of  Connecticut,  took  the  primary  steps  to- 
wards establishing  the  Episcopal  Academy  at  Chesbire;  and  this, 
though  incorporated  with  limited  privileges,  was  intended  as  the 
foundation  for  a  higher  institution,  so  soon  as  a  charter  conferring 
full  collegiate  powers  could  be  obtained  irom  the  State.  It  was 
often  styled,  fiimiliarly,  The  Seabury  College. 

Bishop  Brownell,  who  succeeded  to  the  Episcopate  in  1819,  was 
enabled  very  shortly  to  perfect  these  designs.  The  charter  of 
Washington  College  was  granted  in  1823 ;  and  in  the  following 
year  the  institution  was  opened  at  Hartford,  under  the  presidency 
of  the  Bishop, 

In  1845,  by  permission  of  the  Legislature,  the  name  of  the  College 
was  changed  to  its  present  style,  to  attest  forever  the  faith  of  its 
founders,  and  their  zeal  for  the  perpetual  glory  and  honor  of  the 
One  Holy  and  Undivided  Trinity. 


36 

To  this  brief  History  must  be  added  some  account  of  the  internal 
organization  and  condition  of  the  College. 

Tiie  Senates  Academicus  consists  of  two  housCs,  known  as  the 
Corporation  and  the  House  of  Convocation. 

The  Corporation,  on  which  the  other  house  is  wholly  dependent, 
and  to  wiiich,  by  law,  belongs  the  supreme  control  of  the  College, 
consists  of  not  more  than  twenty-four  Trustees,  resident  within 
the  State  of  Connecticut ;  the  President  of  the  College  being  ex 
officio  one  of  the  number,  and  president  of  the  same.  They  have 
authority  to  fill  their  own  vacancies ;  to  appoint  to  offices  and  pro- 
fessorships ;  to  direct  and  manage  the  funds  for  the  good  of  the 
College ;  and,  in  general,  to  exercise  the  poAvers  of  a  Collegiate 
Society,  according  to  the  provisions  of  the  charter. 

The  House  of  Convocation  consists  of  the  Fellows  and  Profes- 
sors of  Trinity  College,  with  all  persons  who  have  received  any 
academic  degree  whatever  in  the  same,  except  such  as  have  been 
lawfully  deprived  of  their  privileges. 

Its  business  is  such  as  may  from  time  to  time  be  delegated  by  the 
Corporation,  from  which  it  derives  its  existence ;  and  is,  at  present, 
limited  to  consulting  and  advising  for  the  good  of  the  College; 
nominating  the  Junior  Fellows,  and  all  candidates  for  admission  ad 
eundem ;  making  laws  lor  its  own  regulation ;  proposing  plans, 
measures  or  counsel  to  the  Corporation ;  and  to  instituting,  endow- 
ing and  naming,  with  concurrence  of  the  same,  professorships, 
scholarships,  prizes,  medals,  and  the  like. 

The  Chancellor  and  Visitor.  Such  are  the  titles,  under  which 
supervisory  powers,  with  special  reference  to  the  moral  and  reli- 
gious interests  of  the  academical  body,  are  entrusted  to  the  Bishop 
of  the  Diocese  of  Connecticut. 

The  President.  This  officer,  as  his  title  imi)orts,  is  the  resident 
head  and  Rector  of  the  College,  and  the  Executive  of  all  laws  for 
the  discipline  of  under-graduates. 

The  Fellows.  There  are  six  Fellows  appointed  by  the  Corpora- 
tion alone,  and  six  Junior  Fellows,  who  iimst  be  Masters  of  Arts, 
appointed  by  the  Corporation  on  nomination  of  Convocation ;  and 
these  together  make  the  Board  of  Fellows.  To  this  Board  the 
Corporation  commits  the  superintendence  of  the  strictly  academical 
business  of  the  College;  of  the  course  of  study  and  examinations; 
of  the  statutes  and  discipline ;  of  the  library,  cabinet,  chapel,  halls, 
grounds,  collegiate  dress,  and  tlic  like;  and  also  certain  powers  and 
privileges  in  recommending  for  degrees.  Each  Fellow  and  Junior 
Fellow  is  elected  for  three  years ;  but  there  is  no  emolument  con- 
nected with  the  office,  besides  a  provision  for  necessary  expenses 


37 

incurred  in  its  discharge.    The  Fellows  therefore,  under  existing 
laws,  are  not  ordinarily  resident. 

The  Dean  of  Convocatio.n  presides  in  that  House,  and  is  elected 
by  the  same,  biennially. 

The  Professohs  liold  their  appointments  from  the  Corporation, 
and  by  lectures  and  otherwise,  instruct  in  tlieir  several  depart- 
ments. With  the  President  and  Tutors,  they  also  form  a  board  of 
government  and  control  over  the  under-graduates. 

Tutors  and  Lecturers  are  api)ointed  from  time  to  time  by  the 
Corporation  to  assist  the  proles.sors  in  several  dei)artnients  of  in- 
struction. Private  Tutors  have  no  recognized  character  as  offi- 
cers of  the  College. 

ScnoLARsiiu's.  These  arc  i)eimanent  endowments,  held  by  cer- 
tain under-graduates  according  to  the  terms  of  their  Ibundationjand 
paying  stipends  of  diflerent  amounts  to  their  incumbents. 

Halls.  There  are  three  buildings  belonging  to  the  College, 
which  in  1S45,  received  the  name  of  the  first  three  Bishops  of  the 
Diocese.  Seabury-Hall,  erected  in  1825,  contains  the  Chapel, 
and  the  Library,  Cabinet,  and  other  public  chambers.  Jarvis- 
Hall,  erected  in  the  same  year,  and  Brownell-Hall,  erected  in 
1845,  contain  rooms  for  the  officers  and  students ;  and  one  of  the 
wings  of  the  latter  is  the  residence  of  a  Professor  and  his  lamily. 

The  Grounds,  on  wliich  the  halls  are  erected,  are  an  area  of 
fourteen  acres,  laid  out  with  walks,  and  ornamented  with  shade 
trees  and  shrubbery.  The  site  is  elevated,  overlooking  on  one  side 
the  city  of  Harttbrd,  within  the  limits  of  whicli  tlie  grounds  are 
partly  situated;  and  on  the  other  the  Little  River  (a  branch  of  the 
Connecticut,)  which  forms  their  western  boundary.  This  river  is 
suitable  for  boating  and  for  exercise  in  swimming. 

The  Library  and  Cabinet.  There  are  three  thousand  volumes 
belonging  to  the  College,  arranged  in  alcoves,  and  occupying  a 
room  in  Seabury-Hall,  in  which  are  also  the  portraits  of  several 
officers  and  benefactors  of  the  College.  There  are  also  two  libraries 
belonging  to  societi(!s  of  under-graduates,  containing  an  aggregate 
of  six  thousand  volumes.  The  cahiiift  is  an  extensive  collection 
of  minerals  and  geological  specimens.  A  valuable  philosuphical 
apparatus  is  distributed  tlu'ough  the  lecture-rooms  of  the  several 
professors  requiring  its  aid  in  their  instructions. 

Terms.  There  are  three  terms  in  llie  year,  of  from  twelve  to 
fourteen  weeks  eacii :  during  which  every  under-graduate  is  re- 
quired to  be  resident,  unless  under  special  dispensation  from  the 
President. 


38 

Examinations.  These  are  held  at  the  end  of  each  Term,  in 
presence  of  examiners  appointed  by  the  Fellows,  from  their  own 
number,  or  otherwise  j  and  every  nnder-graduate  is  required  to  be 
present  and  sustain  his  prescribed  examinations  at  such  times,  un- 
less a  special  examination  is  allowed  for  sufficient  causes. 

Vacation.  The  Christmas  vacation  is  two  weeks  from  the 
Thursday  preceduig  Christmas  day.  The  Easter  vacation,  four 
weeks  from  the  Thursday  before  the  12th  of  April.  The  Long  Va- 
cation is  seven  Aveeks  from  Commencement  day. 

Commencement.  The  first  Thursday  in  August  is  Commence- 
ment day.  On  the  day  preceding,  the  Corporation  and  House  of 
Convocation  assemble,  and  an  address  and  poem  are  pubUcly  pro- 
nounced before  the  latter.  There  are  also  academical  exercises 
publicly  performed  by  the  Junior  Sophisters  in  the  evening.  On 
this  day  all  applications  for  degrees  ad  eundem  must  be  made  to 
Convocation ;  and  the  annual  elections  of  Fellows  and  Junior  Fel- 
lows are  usually  held  on  this  day,  or  on  the  morning  following.  On 
Commencement-day,  candidates  for  degrees  perform  appointed 
exercises  in  public ;  and  all  degrees  are  conferred  and  announced 
with  prescribed  forms. 

Degrees.  Tlie  Corporation  is  authorized  by  its  charter  to  confer 
degrees  in  the  Arts,  and  in  the  faculties  of  Law,  Medicine  and  Di- 
vinity. Nominations  for  degrees  may  come  from  the  Fellows  and 
Professors,  or  from  the  House  of  Convocation;  but  the  candidates 
are  admitted  only  by  vote  of  the  Corporation;  and  ail  degrees  are 
publicly  conferred  in  its  name,  by  the  President. 

Degrees  in  the  faculties  of  Divinity  and  LaAV  are  conferred,  at 
present,  only  honoris  causa,  or  on  admissions  ad  eundem.  For 
the  degree  of  Bachelor  of  Arts,  the  candidate  must  have  sustained 
all  his  examinations,  and  paid  all  fees  and  charges ;  and  must  be 
nominated  to  the  Corporation  by  the  Fellows,  and  the  Faculty  of 
Arts.  To  proceed  Master  of  Arts,  a  like  nomination  is  requisite  at 
a  period  of  not  less  tlian  three  years  after  commencing  Bachelor. 
The  candidates  for  the  degree  must  have  performed  their  prescri- 
bed exercises  ;  and  it  is  desirable  that  the  President  should  have 
received  application  before  the  ammal  meeting  of  the  Fellows. 
The  right  to  nominate  for  admission  ad  eundem  is  exclusively  the 
privilege  of  the  Convocation. 


(Si\)t  Poets  of  Hcllglon. 


A    POEM, 


DELIVERED    BEFORE   THE 


HOUSE    OE    CONVOCATION 


OP 


TRINITY  COLLEGE, 


IN 


CHRIST   CHURCH,   HARTFORD,    AUGUST  4,  1847. 


BY  THE 

REV.   GEORGE    BURGESS,    D.  D, 

HECTOR    OF  CHRIST    CHURCH,    HARTFORD. 


PITBLISHEO  BY  THE  HOUSE  OP  CONVOCATION. 


HARTFORD: 

PRESS   OF   CASE,   TIFFANY   &  BURNUAM. 

1847. 


Nothing  but  the  desire  to  advance  in  any  manner  the  interests 
of  an  endeared  institution,  and  a  wish  to  cheiish,  amongst  our  edu- 
cated men,  the  honor  and  the  love  of  sacred  and  generous  poetry, 
persuaded  the  writer  to  undertake  the  taslj  of  delivering  a  poem 
before  the  Convocation  of  Trinity  College,  Hartford.  Nothing  else 
has  induced  him  to  consent  to  its  publication.  In  both  instances, 
his  refusal  was  sincere  and  earnest,  and  was  only  overcome  by 
considerations  which  were  not  personal. 


ARGUMENT 


rkmonstranrk.  spensertan  poets.  ministry.  recollections.  claims. 
Scene.  Vision.  Human  History.  Aoencies.  Agency  of  the  Poet.  Poetry 
THE  Mcsic  OP  History.  Moses.  Miriam.  Deborah.  Job.  David.  Solomon. 
Asaph.  Jeremiah.  Isaiah.  The  N.\.tivity.  The  Last  Supper.  The  Cross. 
The  Ascension.  Psalmody  of  the  Cuurcu.  Early  Christian  Hymns.  Gregory 
Nazlanzbn.  Prcdentius.  Alfred.  Dark  Ages.  Dante.  Tasso.  Filicaia. 
Manzoni.  Lvtiier.  Germ.^n  Hymns.  Gellert.  Klopstock.  Herder.  Novalis. 
Claudius.  Stilling.  Stolbero.  Schubert.  Franzen.  Tegner.  Manrique. 
Lamartine.  British  Poets.  Spenser.  Milton.  Pope.  Addison.  Youno. 
Herbert.  Walton.  Kenn.  Bunyan.  Quarles.  Crasiiaw.  King.  Marvell. 
Hervey.  Mrs.  Rowe.  Doddridge.  Watts.  Johnson.  Goldsmith.  Metho- 
dist AND  Moravian  Hymns.  Blair.  Grahams.  Cowper.  Montgomery.  Cole- 
ridge. Southey.  Wordsworth.  Kirke  White.  Charles  and  Robert  Grant. 
Heber.  Milman.  Mrs.  Hemanh.  Pollok.  Keble.  Universal  Power  of 
Poetry.  Return.  Poets  of  the  Land.  Poets  of  the  Spot.  Value  and 
Dignity  of  Poetry.    Apology.    Aim.    Consecration. 


THE  POETS   OF  RELIGION. 


I. 


As  mid  the  strings  an  answering  note  I  sought, 
"  Tempt  not  the  lyre  !"  a  genius  seemed  to  say ; 
"  If  once  thy  youth  the  spell  one  moment  caught, 
Content  thee  still  to  wear  thy  sprig  of  bay  : 
Eve  has  its  ease,  and  morn  its  hour  of  play ; 
For  sterner  toil  was  given  the  noonday  fire  ; 
Bear  yet  a  little  while  thy  dusty  way. 
Nor  pause  for  fancy,  nor  in  bold  desire 
Of  wreaths  thou  canst  not  reach,  tempt  thou  the  lofty  lyre  ! 


11. 


The  Fairy  Queen  forbids  the  Fairy  rhyme  ; 
The  bard  of  Idlesse  warns  thee  from  his  towers ; 
The  Minstrel  sings,  '  how  hard  it  is  to  climb  ;' 
And  Harold's  brow  beneath  its  laurel  lowers  ; 
The  virgin's  gates  are  fenced  by  jealous  powers  ; 
Who  fails  to  win  must  perish  at  their  feet : 
Then  flee,  light  pilgrim,  floe  th'  enchanted  bowers ; 
Rest,  if  thou  must,  on  some  green  wayside  seat ; 
But  haste  to  find  afar  thy  safe  and  still  retreat. 


III. 


As  yet,  nor  safe  nor  still !  In  fields  of  fight 
A  spotless  banner  thou  wert  pledged  to  bear  : 
The  Red  Cross  streams  along  its  folds  of  white, 
And  pours  defiance  on  the  hosts  of  air  : 
They  threat  the  leaguered  camp  :  thy  place  is  there  ! 
On  wings  of  wind  the  fiends  of  battle  hie, 
And  all  thou  dar'st,  the  time  draws  near  to  dare  ; 
Oh,  who  shall  stand  if  standard-bearers  fly. 
Or  change  for  sportive  tilt  the  conflicts  of  the  sky ! 


IV. 


Those  solemn  arches  heard  thy  pastoral  vow ; 
To  guard  that  board  no  hand  is  charged  but  thine  ; 
And  forms  beloved  around  thee  seem  to  bow. 
Who  hve  and  worship  near  a  happier  shrine  ; 
Seem  their  kind  eyes  along  those  aisles  to  shine, 
As  when  thy  voice  their  mounting  fervor  led ; 
That  voice  whose  prayer  could  soothe  their  pale  dechne ; 
That  voice  which  rose  above  their  clay-cold  bed ; 
And  has  that  voice  a  strain  less  sacred  than  the  dead  ?" 


I  paused  and  turned ;  again,  the  call  came  near 
From  those  fair  walks  that  love  their  holiest  name  ; 
It  spoke  of  song  to  youth  and  genius  dear. 
Song  that  may  die,  yet  dying  may  enflame  : 
And  with  it  hopes,  and  with  it  memories  came  ; 
Hopes  that  must  soar  with  yon  yet  dawning  sun. 
And  grateful  memories  with  their  gentle  claim. 
Binding  the  scholar  when  his  race  is  run. 
To  hang  the  chaplet  high,  where  first  the  flowers  are  won. 


VI. 


While  thus  I  mused,  light  breezes  from  the  West 
Swept  the  thin  clouds  that  s])read  their  fleecy  trail 
Wliere,  like  a  conqueror  in  his  gorgeous  vest, 
The  reddening  day  rode  downward  o'er  the  vale  : 
On  the  broad  river  swelled  the  transient  sail, 
And  silver  ripples  caught  the  beams  of  gold  : 
Beyond,  green  hills,  a  vast,  encircling  pale, 
Clasped  the  sweet  meadows  like  some  peaceful  fold  ; 
And  in  the  North,  far,  far,  the  long,  low  thunder  rolled. 


VII. 


To  fancy's  glass,  that  all  things  dreams  to  life. 
Earth  lay  within  that  narrow  scene  outspread  : 
Clouds  hung  above,  the  clouds  of  woe  and  strife, 
But  all  the  higher  heaven  rich  glory  shed  : 
On  its  calm  course,  time's  sweeping  current  sped, 
Its  banks  resounding  with  the  toilsome  throng ; 
And  judgment  pealed  afar  its  trumpet  dread. 
And  guilt  recoiled,  amidst  its  march  of  wrong, 
And  the  earth  travailing  groaned,  "why  wait  His  wheels  so  long! 


VIII. 

The  dream  grew  stronger,  and  the  scene  more  vast ; 
Those  distant  hills  like  Alps  or  Andes  frowned  ; 
While  o'er  the  plain  the  mighty  ages  passed  ; 
And  nations'  voices  swelled  the  rushing  sound  : 
Tall  cities  rose,  with  fanes  and  castles  crowTied; 
The  wealth  of  realms  in  yellow  harvests  sprung; 
The  step  of  armies  shook  the  blood-stained  ground ; 
Fleets  to  the  winds  their  venturous  streamers  flung; 
And  round  their  thrones  and  laws  embattled  milhons  clung. 


8 
IX. 


The  reverend  senate  sat  in  halls  of  state  ; 
Do\^-n  the  plumed  ranks  T  saw  the  chieftain  dart ; 
Held  the  wise  judge  the  impartial  scales  of  fate  ; 
Hurried  the  keen-eyed  merchant  in  the  mart ; 
Bright  figures  g-rew  beneath  the  touch  of  art ; 
I  saw  the  sage  amidst  his  listening  ring ; 
I  saw  the  patient  scholar  toil  apart ; 
I  saw  the  priest  his  living  censer  bring  : 
I  saw  not  yet  the  bard,  nor  heard  th'  impassioned  string. 


X. 


At  length  it  came  ;  it  came  !  As  when  at  mom 
From  the  thick  grove  a  thousand  voices  float ; 
As  when  the  clash  of  cymbal,  fife  and  horn 
Swells  through  some  mountain  gorge's  iron  throat ; 
So  on  my  soul  the  strains  of  gloiy  smote  ; 
So  streamed  the  varied  lays  in  one  high  chime  ; 
The  lover's  plaint,  the  minstrel's  jocund  note. 
The  ode's  wild  thrill,  the  drama's  pomp  sublime, 
The  flood  of  epic  song,  the  hymns  of  every  clime. 


XI. 


Mingled  they  came  ;  and  all  that  breathing  scene 
To  careless  glance  had  seemed  a  troubled  maze  ; 
But  ever  a  soft  sunlight  fell  between, 
And  beauteous  order  shone  beneath  its  rays  ; 
The  comet  is  not  lost,  though  far  it  strays  ; 
The  spheres  have  music  such  as  seraphs  hear ; 
So  the  full  torrent  of  ten  thousand  lays 
Rolled  an  hannonious  measure  o'er  mine  ear  ; 
Song  was  the  pulse  of  life,  and  song  to  heaven  was  dear. 


XII. 

In  ancient  lands  where  springs  the  day  to  birth, 
I  saw  a  chosen  shepherd  as  he  sang, 
"  In  the  beginning  how  the  heavens  and  earth 
Rose  out  of  chaos  :"  then  with  timbrel's  clang 
On  the  seashore  the  song  of  freedom  rang ; 
Then  fought  the  stars  from  heaven  with  Barak's  thrust ; 
Then,  pierced  by  wounded  friendship's  sternest  pang. 
The  patient  patriarch,  seated  in  the  dust, 
Sang  to  the  Arab  winds,  his  sad,  victorious  trust. 


XIII. 

A  ruddy  boy  sang  carols  by  his  flock  ; 
Their  stripling  champion  sang  a  maiden  train  ; 
A  hunted  exile  trod  the  desert  rock  ; 
A  generous  mourner  wept  the  kingly  slain  ; 
A  warrior  bard  had  triumph  on  his  strain  ; 
A  harper  bowed  where  that  dread  ark  abode  ; 
A  crownless  father  fled  across  the  plain  ! 
So  passed  a  prince  along  his  wondrous  road. 
And  ever  where  he  passed,  a  psalm's  sweet  echoes  flowed. 

XIV. 

A  son's  calm  forehead  wore  his  sacred  crown  ; 
A  son's  rich  hand  his  sacred  harp-strings  tried  ; 
He  sang  in  peaceful  days  of  wise  renown. 
The  heavenly  bridegroom  and  the  mystic  bride  ; 
But  from  his  own  bright  shrine  he  trod  aside. 
And  idol  sorceries  stole  his  grayer  years  ; 
Then,  rushed  the  solemn  lay  that  wailed  his  pride, 
And  told  how  vain  the  joys,  or  cares,  or  fears, 
That  fill  the  golden  cup  where  guilt  shall  leave  but  tears. 
^  2 


10 
XV. 


Then,  in  that  temple's  halls  the  priestly  saint 
To  awful  hymns  the  choral  psaltery  sweeps  : 
Then  on  the  gale  is  borne  the  tuneful  plaint 
Where  by  the  willo\Ae(i  streams  the  captive  weeps  : 
Then,  while  on  ruined  towers  the  moonbeam  sleeps, 
The  patriot  seer  tells  o'er  his  scroll  of  woes  : 
Then,  his  lone  watch  a  loftier  warder  keeps. 
The  blood-red  vision  forth  from  Bozrah  goes, 
And  far  the  desert  smiles,  and  blossoms  as  the  rose. 


XVI. 


A  psalm  from  heaven  along  the  pastures  fell, 
Fast  by  a  city  slumbering  deep  in  night : 
The  King  of  kings  had  come  with  men  to  dwell ; 
And  the  glad  skies  burst  forth  in  song  and  light : 
A  holy  song  was  heard,  when,  meek  in  might, 
To  the  last  strife  for  man's  dear  sake  He  bowed  ; 
Hymns  were  His  cries,  while  hung  His  soul  in  flight ; 
And  when  He  passed  by  yon  blue  archway  proud, 
Followed  the  songs  of  earth,  beyond  the  enfolding  cloud. 

XVH. 

They  pierced  the  lattice  from  those  upper  rooms. 
Where  in  rapt  love  the  cup  of  grace  was  poured ; 
They  swelled  victorious  o'er  the  place  of  tombs  ; 
Up  from  the  nuptial  train  in  joy  they  soared  ; 
Th(!y  cheered  the  bench  of  toil,  the  homely  board, 
The  lonesome  exile's  desert  way  beguiled  ; 
To  their  soft  fall  his  oar  the  boatman  lowered  ; 
And  where  the  mother  lulled  her  hstening  child. 
She  sang  of  Jesus'  love,  and  angels  stooped  and  smiled. 


11 

XVIII. 

0  names  most  bless'd,  though  all  on  earth  unknown  ! 
There  is  a  page  where  all  resplendent  stand  ! 

Ye  whom  I  saw  where,  in  your  chambers  lone, 
Ye  touched  the  chords  that  thrilled  from  land  to  land ; 
Till  where  the  Atlantic  kissed  the  Culdces'  strand. 
And  where  the  morn  broke  purpling  o'er  the  Nile, 
That  "  holy,  holy,"  met  the  seraph  band. 
That  first  with  earthly  notes  in  Milan's   aisle 
Shook  all  th'  adoring  throng,  and  shook  the  echoing  pUe. 

XIX. 

Him,  who,  with  hot  Byzantium's  mitre  tired. 
Longed  for  his  Nazianzum's  loAvly  cell. 
Though  his  rich  lips  the  vast  assembly  fired. 
And  princes  hung  entranced  within  the  spell ; 
Him  who  had  loved  not  wisely  yet  too  well, 

1  saw  where,  hid  from  men,  he  strove  to  sing  : 
Faint  was  the  flame,  and  rough  the  numbers  fell ; 
Yet  his  owTi  soul  was  on  the  bird's  light  wing. 

And  caught,  above  the  whirl,  sweet  gales  of  balmy  spring. 


XX. 


In  the  red  sunset  of  her  Pagan  fame, 
When  o'er  her  plains  the  Gothic  vultures  hung, 
Rome  held  Prudentius  :  his  the  foremost  name 
That  bound  to  Christian  strains  that  classic  tona^ue : 
He  on  the  martyrs'  graves  his  lilies  flung ; 
He  rushed  from  prostrate  shrines,  too  long  adored, 
And  fast  to  Caesar's  knees  a  suppliant  clung, 
And  for  the  captive,  Rome's  new  grace  implored : 
Th'  arena  rang  with  hymns,  and  sank  the  bmtal  sword. 


12 

XXI. 

Alaric,  Theodoric,  Clovis,  Charlemagne, 
Ye  long-haired  kings  that  walk  on  Roman  dust, 
WTio  treads  so  bright  amidst  your  iron  train  ? 
Alfred,  the  wise,  the  brave,  the  pure,  the  just ; 
Alfred,  who  chased  the  fiends  of  war  and  lust ; 
Alfred,  Avho  spoils  from  fifty  battles  bore ; 
Alfred,  who  hung  the  victor's  blade  to  rust ; 
Then  sang,  a  psalmist,  with  a  sage's  lore, 
And  fenced  with  royal  prayers,  his  Albion's  well  won  shore. 

XXTI. 

Now  on  the  hills  and  plains  and  streams  came  down 
A  mist  that  heaved  like  billows  on  the  deep  : 
It  breaks  by  gleams,  and  here  a  bannered  tovm, 
And  there  a  castle  nodding  o'er  the  steep  : 
On  Eastern  plains  the  knightly  chargers  leap  : 
Gray  convent  turrets  rise  in  pensive  vales  : 
And  solemn  strains  round  ancient  ruins  sweep. 
Blending  for  man's  sad  state  their  plaintive  wails 
With  strong,  heroic  deeds  that  live  in  minstrel  tales. 

XXIII. 

Lo,  from  the  screen  emerged  to  clearer  light, 
Florence,  the  land  where  freedom  blooms  or  l)leeds  ! 
And  exiled  Dante  dares  the  gates  of  night. 
Mounts  the  dread  car  that  owns  no  mortal  steeds  ; 
Scowls  o'er  the  abyss,  its  direful  secret  reads  ; 
Then,  crag  by  crag,  ascends  the  toilsome  way  : 
On  !  on  !  'tis  thine  own  Beatrice  that  leads  ! 
Soon  shalt  thou  tread  the  heights  of  upper  day, 
And  heaven  and  hell  shall  gleam  from  one  wild,  wondrous  lay. 


13 
XXIV. 

As  softly  rich  as  when  a  tender  flute 
Melodious  steals  across  some  orange  grove, 
While  eve  descends,  and  stars  seem  listening  mute, 
Of  Godfrey's  triumph  and  Erminia's  love 
Was  Tasso's  tale  ;  then  far  it  swept  above  ; 
And  dazzling  armies  hung  in  Salem's  sky  : 
Th'  enthusiast  lyre  was  crushed  ;  but  like  the  dove, 
Sweet  peace  came  answering  to  his  contrite  cry, 
And  in  his  convent  cell  he  died  as  breezes  die. 


XXV. 

But  now,  no  arms  of  song  assail  mine  ear  ; 
No  fabled  chiefs  yon  turbaned  hosts  control : 
O  for  a  shout  to  bring  all  Europe  near. 
Where  leagured  Austria  waits  the  royal  Pole  ! 
As  from  the  cliflf  the  broken  billows  roll. 
Fled  from  Vienna's  wall  the  Moslem  trains  ; 
O  for  a  song  for  every  Christian  soul ! 
Then  rolled  the  pomp  of  Filicaia's  strains, 
And  throbbed  with  Europe's  joy  through  all  her  sweUing  veins  ! 

XXVI. 

Sad  to  my  heart  that  o'er  each  Southern  throne 
In  jewelled  falsehood  towers  the  Roman  shrine  ; 
Yet  shall  that  heart  the  hallowed  music  own, 
That  breathes  along  the  sweet  Italian  line  ; 
Thine,  Filicaia  !  and,  Manzoni,  thine  ! 
Thou,  purest  of  all  pencils  of  romance  ! 
Thou,  whose  bright  song  its  flowers  disdained  to  twine 
Around  the  reveller's  cup,  or  conqueror's  lance. 
But  built  the  cross  of  love  o'er  fields  of  change  and  chance. 


14 

XXVII. 

I  pass  the  Alps  ;  along  their  Switzer  side, 
Hark,  like  the  wind  that  scales  the  icy  steeps  ! 
It  is  the  hymn  of  Lvither  !  Far  and  wide 
From  old  Germanian  towns  the  tempest  sweeps  ; 
O'er  the  broad  oaken  forests  on  it  leaps  : 
He  wields  the  axe  ;  and  Babel's  pillars  fall ; 
Then  in  his  Catharine's  arms,  he  smiles  or  weeps ; 
And  lifts  in  sacred  song  his  clarion  call ; 
Oh,  bravest  heart  on  earth,  since  heaven  miclosed  for  Paul ! 

XXVIII. 

Oh,  rich  and  dear  the  good  Teutonic  tongue  ! 
And  rich  and  dear  its  thoustmd  holy  lays  ; 
By  humble  hearths,  in  solemn  church-yards  sung, 
Where  the  green  lindens  hide  the  grassy  ways  : 
Rist,  Gerhard,  Angelus,  from  elder  days. 
These  are  the  voices  of  the  German's  home, 
Where  by  the  broad  Missouri  now  he  strays, 
Where  Elbe  spreads  onward  to  the  ocean  foam, 
Or  where  with  thunder  bursts  fair  Bremen's  ancient  dome. 


XXIX. 

When  royal  Frederick  and  Theresa  strove. 
And  blazed  on  Saxon  heights  the  camp-fire  red. 
Day  after  day  through  Leipsic's  murmuring  grove, 
Repose  and  health  a  gentle  student  led  : 
His  name  was  Gellert,  and  his  fancy  fed 
On  no  light  splendours  of  a  poet's  dream, 
But  in  the  region  of  pure  joy  and  dread  : 
Goodness  he  loved,  and  goodness  was  his  theme, 
And  his  calm  verse  flowed  on,  a  bright  and  nurturing  stream. 


15 

XXX. 

Not  such  the  torrent  of  deep  song  that  gushed 
Over  the  harp  of  Klopstock  :  on  the  air 
The  pinions  of  bright  angels  round  him  rushed, 
And  all  creation's  voice  was  praise  and  prayer  : 
He  sang  Messiah ;  from  this  vale  of  care 
As  high  his  heart,  his  numbers  soared  as  high, 
As  w^hen  a  spirit  mounts  the  heavenly  stair, 
Casts,  with  a  song,  its  mortal  vestments  by. 
And  sees  th'  eternal  gates  with  meek,  undazzled  eye. 

XXXI. 

The  courtly  prophet  of  a  doubting  age. 
Who  leaned  in  Weimar's  park  on  Wieland's  arm, 
I  cannot  praise  ;  yet.  Herder,  on  thy  page 
The  patriarch's  word  has  left  its  hoary  charm  : 
Genius  was  thine  :  if  faith,  with  quick  alarm. 
Shall  bid  thee  think  thou  tread'st  on  holy  ground. 
And  put  thy  sandals  off,  yet,  safe  from  harm, 
She  loves  thy  Syrian  plains,  with  dew-drops  crowii'd. 
And  joys  to  hear  thy  hymn  through  Mamre's  oaks  resound. 

XXXH. 

Nor  all  unmixed  the  praise  that  waits  on  thee, 
O  young  Novalis,  with  thine  azure  glance, 
Following  the  changeful  lights  thou  may'st  not  see. 
And  bathing  in  the  heaven's  bright  blue  expanse. 
Where  thou,  with  Plato,  knew'st  the  mystic  dance  ! 
In  deepest  hearts  thy  thoughts  had  readiest  room  : 
But  thy  Moravian  parents,  in  thy  trance. 
Were  with  thee  still  ;  and  amaranth  flowers  shall  bloom, 
By  Christian  fingers  set,  round  thy  too  early  tomb. 


16 

XXXIII. 

And  bards,  I  deem,  and  faithful  bards  were  they, 
Though  oft  the  rhyme  to  lofty  periods  change ; 
Claudius,  who  trilled  his  playful,  tender  lay 
From  the  green  covert  of  his  village  grange  ; 
Stilling,  strange  walker  in  a  world  more  strange  ; 
Stolberg,  the  noblest  name  an  age  enrolled  ; 
Schubert,  who  lives  the  soul's  wide  world  to  range. 
And  truths  like  gems  to  fix  in  words  like  gold, 
And  tell  what  saints  have  been,  and  be  what  saints  have  told. 

XXXIV. 

I  saw  two  poet  prelates  of  the  clime 
Which  that  brave  Charles  and  each  Gustavus  bred; 
Stars  of  the  North,  they  cheered  this  latter  time  : 
Franzen  was  one,  a  pure  and  honored  head  ; 
And  one  was  he  who  Frithiof 's  legend  said. 
And  sang  the  lambs  his  pastoral  hand  had  bless'd : 
Once  at  his  side,  so  strange  our  destined  thread, 
I  sat,  a  youthful  wanderer  from  the  West, 
And  listened  with  fond  ear,  the  brightest  German's  guest. 

XXXV. 

Another  age  !  Along  a  Spanish  plain 
Chargers  and  knights  bestrewed  the  bloody  ground  : 
They  searched  a  warrior,  foremost  of  the  slain, 
And  on  his  breast  a  bloody  scroll  they  found  ; 
There,  his  own  death-song  George  Manrique  bound, 
Those  solemn  couplets,  made  so  lately  ours. 
That,  age  by  age,  o'er  pomp  and  greatness  sound. 
Like  the  deep  knell  from  some  old,  cloistered  towers, 
Then  roll  away,  away,  to  rest's  eternal  bowers. 


17 
XXXVI. 

Another  scene  !  Emerging  from  wild  wars, 
France  for  her  struggUng  freedom  sues  release  : 
Dinted  her  helm,  her  bosom  seamed  with  scars, 
She  longs  for  exiled  faith  and  law  and  peace  : 
Hark  !  Lamartine's  high  numbers  roll  and  cease  ; 
Blending  the  ancient  fire,  the  modern  thought, 
Tlie  song  of  Sion  and  the  harp  of  Greece, 
"What  Charles  had  planned,  or  Fenelon  had  taught. 
Or  good  Saint  Louis  prayed,  or  strong  Napoleon  wrought. 

XXXVII. 

Now  the  sweet  accents  of  our  fathers'  land. 
The  glorious  accents  of  the  wise  and  free. 
Came  to  my  ear  from  many  a  silver  strand. 
Mingling  their  voices  with  the  conquered  sea  ! 
O  England,  mother,  burns  our  heart  for  thee  ! 
For  truth  has  made  thee  sacred ;  and  so  long 
As  from  thy  rocks  the  baffled  waves  shall  flee. 
Shall  he  who  thinks  what  thou  hast  been  be  strong, 
Nerved  for  his  saintly  war  by  thy  religious  song  ! 

XXXVIII. 

The  master  of  my  lyre,  apart,  alone. 
On  Mulla's  bank  his  mighty  fable  wove  : 
Untired  he  watched,  and  saw  the  elfin  throne, 
The  cave,  the  castle,  the  enchanted  grove  : 
The  champion  knight  the  cowering  monsters  drove, 
The  self-same  knight  with  many  a  shield  and  name  ; 
For  faith,  for  love,  for  temperance  still  he  strove. 
Still  strove  the  hallowed  warrior  and  o'ercame ; 
And  the  bright  queen's  reward  was  virtue's  peerless  fame. 

3 


18 

XXXIX. 

And  yet  a  greater !  old,  and  blind,  and  poor, 
A  father  sits,  and  bending  daughters  write  ; 
A  while  the  song  shall  seek  its  way  obscure, 
Then  roll  in  floods  of  everlastina:  liffht : 
The  song  of  Milton  !  up  the  starry  height. 
Where  Uriel  stands,  l)right  regent  of  the  sun. 
The  soul  with  him  shall  wing  his  Raphael's  flight, 
And  look  o'er  Eden  lost  and  Eden  won, 
And,  yet  a  pilgrim,  hear  the  strains  of  home  begun. 


XL. 


And  noble  was  his  verse,  whose  lofty  plan 
From  link  to  link  th'  eternal  chain  pursued : 
"The  proper  study  of  mankind  is  man," 
He  said,  and  sang  of  man's  supremest  good  : 
On  the  low  meads  of  earth-bom  taste  he  stood, 
Yet  with  calm  skill  could  point  th'  adorer's  eye, 
Till  nature's  God  in  nature's  face  it  viewed, 
While  the  charmed  rhyme,  that  flowed  unruffled  by, 
In  memory  still  must  flow,  till  memory's  self  shall  die. 

XLI. 

Near  him  was  one,  w^ho  brought  his  fresh,  fair  youth 
From  the  good  lessons  of  a  pastor's  hearth, 
To  gild  his  native  tongue  with  beauteous  truth, 
With  graceful  rhetoric,  and  with  blameless  mirth  : 
All  palms  he  bore  o'er  wealth  and  power  and  birth  ; 
But  crowned  his  Christian  deathbed  best  the  lays. 
Where  chant  the  spangled  heavens  all  round  the  earth. 
Where  mercies  past  the  rising  soul  surveys. 
Or  where  the  peaceful  flock  mid  verdant  pastures  strays. 


19 

XLII. 

E'en  mightier  thoughts  from  spangled  night  came  do-wTi 
On  him  whose  harp  the  night's  lone  musing  chose  : 
The  dark  hours  fled,  and  each  with  heavier  frown, 
The  sad  reflection  of  his  inward  woes  ; 
Then,  with  the  midnight  stars  on  stars  he  rose  ; 
Not  smooth  the  strain,  but  grand  and  strong,  and  deep ; 
And  there  the  mourners  of  all  lands  repose, 
And  still,  with  Young,  their  thoughtful  vigils  keep, 
And  at  Narcissa's  grave  their  own  loved  lost  ones  weep. 

XLIII. 

I  saw  a  courteous  shepherd,  as  he  pass'd. 
The  chimes  of  Salisbury  floating  to  his  ear ; 
The  garb  of  highborn  state  aside  he  cast, 
And  sought  the  rural  pastor's  modest  sphere. 
And  trod  the  house  of  prayer  with  reverent  fear  : 
The  saintly  Herbert  !     From  his  tranquil  cot 
Came  the  quaint  song  that  makes  the  church-porch  dear, 
And  binds  the  country  priest  to  love  his  lot. 
While  peace  with  calm,  white  wings  bends  o'er  the  fragrant  spot. 

XLIV. 

His  tale  was  told  by  one  whom  next  I  spied, 
The  gentle  angler,  singing  in  the  glen ; 
A  poet  he,  in  heart  and  blood  allied 
To  that  thrice  reverend  name  of  holy  Keim ; 
Kenn,  who  returning  from  the  strife  of  men, 
Found  in  his  lowlier  walks  no  time  to  grieve, 
But  from  the  labors  of  a  cheerful  pen. 
Left  the  dear  liymns  that  yet  at  morn  and  eve 
O'er  countless  Christian  beds  their  balmy  blessing  leave. 


20 

XLV. 

A  dreamer  lighted  on  a  den,  and  slept, 
And  when  he  woke,  the  pilgrim's  progress  told : 
In  every  tongue,  though  scarce  the  lyre  he  swept. 
His  pictured  page  its  poetry  unrolled  : 
Song  of  the  young,  and  solace  of  the  old  ! 
Oh,  matchless  guide  along  th'  eternal  way, 
Whose  fable's  robes  so  light  the  truth  enfold, 
Each  graceful  line  in  all  its  form  display, 
And  melt  beneath  the  gaze  as  twilight  melts  to  day. 

XLVL 

And  there  was  earnest  Quarles,  whose  moral  line 
So  well  could  preach  o'er  man's  terrestrial  doom  ; 
And  fervent  Crashaw,  rapt  in  hopes  divine 
Till  his  heart  soared  as  on  an  angel's  plume  ; 
And  mitred  King,  who  mourned  in  radiant  gloom ; 
And  patriot  Marvel,  with  his  moonlight  flow ; 
And  pious  Hervey,  musing  o'er  a  tomb  ; 
And  the  veiled  tresses  of  seraphic  Rowe  ; 
And  Doddridge,  when  from  heaven  he  caught  th'  inspiring  glow ; 

XLVIL 

And  one  whose  head  with  better  wreaths  was  bound 
Than  all  that  rovers  to  Parnassus  gain. 
And  yet  no  stranger  on  Parnassian  ground  : 
Though  now,  perhaps,  on  tlioughtless  lips  and  vain. 
The  songs  of  Watts  be  coupled  with  disdain, 
Yet  oft  to  hear  shall  taste  delighted  bend ; 
Yet  shall  they  sound  from  many  a  heaving  fane  ; 
Yet  infant  tones  with  angel  themes  shall  blend ; 
And  with  th'  expiring  saint  to  one  bright  home  ascend. 


21 

XLVITI. 

Nor  e'er  rose  England's  loftiest  sage  so  high, 
As  when,  all  vainer  wishes  cast  behind. 
He  bade  thee,  when  thou  liftst  the  supphant  cry, 
"  Pour  forth  thy  fervors  for  a  healthful  mind. 
Obedient  passions,  and  a  will  resigned  :" 
Nor  spot  more  loved  could  Auburn's  bard  portray, 
Than  where  the  village  preacher  stands  enshrined, 
"  Truth  from  his  lips  prevails  with  double  sway. 
And  fools  that  came  to  scoff,  remain  in  tears  to  pray." 

XLIX. 

And  lo,  with  downcast  eyes,  and  souls  above, 
Of  pilgrims  of  plain  garb  yon  swelling  host ! 
And  lo,  another  band,  whose  burning  love 
Bears  the  dear  name  of  Christ,  their  only  boast. 
From  Afric's  cape  to  Greenland's  icebound  coast ! 
With  each  the  tide  of  song  and  music  w^ent ; 
Humble  the  best,  and  all  unskilled  the  most ; 
Yet  myriads  of  strong  hearts  the  chorus  sent. 
That  rose  with  Wesley's  fire,  or  Gambold's  bless'd  content. 


L. 


Forth  from  the  casement  of  a  Lowland  manse, 
Blair  looked  on  graves  that  sparkled  in  the  dew ; 
The  Grave  his  theme,  the  faithful  poet's  glance 
Passed  upward  from  the  shades  of  solenni  yew, 
And  life  in  death  burst  glorious  on  the  view  : 
From  such  a  scene,  with  memory's  fondest  skill, 
The  Sabl)ath's  bard  his  holy  ])icture  drew, 
Where  flocks  and  clouds  slept  tranquil  on  the  hill. 
And  rose  the  wide  earth's  prayers,  like  smoke-wreaths  calm  and 
still. 


22 
LI. 


Wlio  yonder  walks,  his  playmates  at  his  feet, 
Lingering  at  sunset  by  the  winding  Ouse  ; 
Then,  home  returning,  draws  his  fireside  seat, 
And  sheltered  safely  from  the  evening  dews, 
Looks  from  his  loophole  o'er  the  world  of  news, 
And  sings  his  morning  song,  that,  upward  nursed, 
Climbed  from  the  Sofa  to  the  heavenliest  muse  ? 
He  sang  of  comfort  while  his  heart-strings  burst. 
And  poured  the  stream  of  life,  and  died  in  fancied  thirst. 


LIL 


A  happier  fate,  nor  less  renowned  a  song. 
Was  his,  who  still  his  life's  long  honors  wears  ! 
Still  may  Montgomery  stay  to  wear  them  long  ; 
They  blend  no  stain  amid  his  hoary  hairs  ! 
And  when  to  that  departed  train  he  fares. 
Whose  tender  forms  he  oft  beheld  so  near. 
Shall  thousands  of  sweet  voices  bless  with  theirs, 
The  harp  that  woke  and  dried  the  sacred  tear, 
And  bless  the  gentle  eye  they  loved  yet  knew  not  here. 

LIIL 

From  a  wild  land  of  lofty  floods  and  lakes. 
Three  mighty  streams  of  song  come  side  by  side  ; 
The  strain  of  Coleridge  like  a  cataract  breaks. 
Then  through  the  plain  its  waves  refreshing  glide  ; 
As  vast  is  Southey  as  his  Severn's  tide ; 
As  deep  is  Wordsworth  as  his  lake's  deep  blue. 
Whose  breast,  alone  with  heaven,  the  mountains  hide 
Oh,  happy  then  was  Britain  when  she  knew 
Her  three  divinest  songs  to  British  faith  so  true  ! 


23 

LIV. 


And  next  I  looked  where  Gray's  once  favorite  bowers 
To  sacred  strains  the  lyre  of  genius  strung : 
From  toils  and  victories  of  his  midnight  hours, 
White  to  the  tomb  passed  beautiful  and  young, 
For  his  owni  dirge  his  own  sad  verse  had  sung : 
But  to  the  heirs  of  Grant's  true  worth  and  name. 
Was  given  the  brilliant  mind,  th'  enchaining  tongue, 
The  soft  rich  hymn,  so  various  yet  the  same. 
That  bears  to  coming  saints  their  undivided  fame. 


LV. 


Best  of  the  bright,  and  brightest  of  the  good. 
Before  me,  graceful  in  the  scholar's  gown. 
Next,  mid  applauding  scholars,  Heber  stood. 
And  wore  unmatched  the  youthful  laureate's  cro^^^^, 
Then,  trod  the  radiant  paths  of  pure  renown  : 
His  song,  his  heart,  his  hfe,  to  Christ  he  bore  ; 
And,  when,  beneath  the  palms  he  laid  them  down, 
His  glorious  chant  of  One  who  passed  before, 
Died  o'er  his  grave,  and  came,  returned  from  every  shore. 


LVI. 

The  meet  companion  of  his  lyre  I  spied 
In  the  robed  student  of  that  stately  fane 
Whose  Gothic  towers  look  down  on  London's  pride 
And  grand  and  gorgeous  as  an  Eastern  train 
Floats  the  majestic  pomp  of  Milman's  strain  ! 
Master  of  words,  like  orient  pearls  that  fall, 
When  in  the  dust  sad  Zion  wails  her  slain. 
Or  the  wild  shout  goes  up  from  Babel's  hall, 
Or  the  glad  martyr  hastes  to  heaven's  high  festival. 


24 

LVII. 

Like  mellow  tints  that  end  th'  autumnal  clay, 
Like  fragrant  blushes  of  the  moss-girt  rose, 
Felicia  bloomed,  Felicia  passed  away. 
The  song  still  deepening  to  the  heavenly  close ; 
But,  where  in  love  the  household  altar  glows. 
Or  patriot  freedom  lifts  the  steady  spear, 
Or  on  in  tears  the  way-worn  pilgrim  goes, . 
Tliat  bird-like,  woodland  note  shall  still  be  near. 
And  gushing  sounds  of  home  the  wandering  heart  shall  hear. 

LVIIL 

On  Scottish  moors,  in  humble  labors  bred, 
In  the  kind  rigors  of  his  faith  and  clime, 
The  Bible  and  the  sky  young  Pollok  read. 
And  the  old  tales  of  conscience  and  of  crime. 
And  chose  in  lonely  hours  his  theme  sublime  : 
Far  on,  beyond  the  mortal  mists  he  pass'd. 
And  backward  glancing,  told  the  course  of  time, 
Its  wondrous  course,  so  wondrous  till  the  last. 
In  numbers  bold  and  harsh,  like  the  strong  pibroch's  blast. 


LIX. 


Once  more,  once  more !    How  sweet  a  note  was  there  ! 
From  oriels  of  high  Oxford  forth  it  steals, 
And  all  the  gales  the  gentle  echoes  bear, 
Where'er  the  Sabbath  bell  of  England  peals  ! 
On  rolls  the  sacred  Year  its  awful  wheels  ; 
And  every  sacred  theme  has  dear  regard  : 
He  sings  so  sweetly  that  so  true  he  feels : 
Oh,  though  a  thousand  colder  strains  be  marr'd. 
Still  clasp  the  purer  church  her  tenderest,  holiest  bard  ! 


25 
LX. 


So,  mid  earth's  many  voices,  passed  the  voice 
Of  hallowed  song,  far  up  th'  eternal  hill : 
I  saw  the  nations  tremble,  and  rejoice, 
And  weep,  and  rally,  at  its  mighty  thrill ; 
Lord  of  the  fancy,  o'er  the  realms  of  will, 
Th'  anointed  poet  fixed  his  welcome  throne: 
And  my  full  soul  bowed  down  and  blessed  the  skill 
That  wakes  in  human  hearts  their  deepest  tone, 
And  lifts  them  high  as  heaven,  and  clasps  them  for  its  own. 


LXI. 

Meanwhile  mine  eye  had  crossed  the  Western  main. 
And  a  fair  s})ot  its  gaze  in  passing  drew  ; 
And  while  I  caught  no  unfamiliar  strain, 
That  little  spot  to  fill  the  vision  grew  ; 
The  fancied  scene  was  yielding  to  the  true  : 
Our  own  broad  river  in  the  sunset  glowed ; 
Our  own  green  hills  shut  in  the  fading  view ; 
It  was  the  valley  of  my  dear  abode, 
And  my  own  city's  chimes  along  the  breezes  flowed. 


LXII. 

And  here,  I  said,  where  once  my  country's  morn 
Saw  her  young  bards  attempt  the  epic  height, 
Saw  her  own  song  in  infant  beauty  born. 
With  Barlow,  Trumbull,  Hopkins,  Humphreys,  Dwight ; 
I^e,  where  the  church  whose  very  prayers  are  bright 
With  all  that  poets  love,  her  watch-tower  rears, 
And  calls  the  Muses  to  her  sacred  light ; 
Here  should  the  hallowed  verse  find  eager  ears. 
And  pour  its  burning  swell  far  o'er  perpetual  years. 
4 


26 

LXIII. 

Such  strains  have  floated  round  those  walks  and  walls, 
From  one  who  changed  the  youthful  harpstring  bold 
For  every  task  whose  urgent  labor  calls 
The  pastors'  pastor  to  his  well  watched  fold  : 
And  one  whose  strength  his  lyre  but  half  has  told, 
And  half  concealed;  and  one  whose  brilliant  way 
A  brother's  heart  in  silence  fond  may  hold ; 
And  one,  whose  gentler  praise  I  must  not  say, 
But  the  wide  English  world  gives  back  that  kindliest  lay. 

LXIV. 

Oh  precious,  precious  be  the  warbled  charm 
Within  whose  flow  such  might  of  sweetness  lies  ; 
Might,  to  high  deeds  that  lifts  the  strenuous  arm, 
And  draws  high  thoughts,  the  wisest  from  the  wise ; 
That  lures  the  fount  of  tears  from  hardiest  eyes  ; 
And  sways  all  souls  with  love's  divinest  art : 
Sing  he  who  may  :  if  loftier  bards  despise, 
Sing  like  the  songsters  of  the  grove  apart. 
And  trust  to  every  wind  the  numbers  of  the  heart. 

LXV. 

So  wooed  the  Muse,  and  so  the  Muse  has  won  ; 
And  half  in  shame,  and  half  in  pensive  joy. 
Through  one  bright  hour  the  man  has  lingered  on. 
In  shades  that  once  could  chain  the  ardent  boy  : 
Oh,  but  too  happy  in  his  light  employ. 
Might  but  his  verse  some  youthful  bosom  lure 
From  sloth  that  taints,  and  trifles  that  destroy. 
To  love  the  flowers  whose  vernal  hues  endure, 
To  court  the  glowing  harp,  and  let  that  harp  be  pure  : 


27 

LXVI. 

Not  in  brief  play  the  earnest  mind  to  waste, 
Not  from  stern  tasks  life's  little  space  to  rend  ; 
But  truth's  firm  pile  to  twine  with  wreaths  of  taste, 
And  man's  deep  strength  with  woman's  grace  to  blend ; 
O'er  storms  of  care  a  rainbow-arch  to  bend  ; 
With  bounding  step  the  hidden  snare  to  spurn. 
Then  on,  far  on,  th'  exploring  pinion  send, 
Till  faith  to  sight,  and  praise  to  rapture  bum. 
And  with  one  swan-like  hymn  the  spirit  home  return. 

LXVII. 

Thou,  on  whose  altar  all  my  toils  are  laid. 
Accept  e'en  this  ;  e'en  this  beseems  thy  shrine  ! 
Thy  children  come,  nor  thankless  nor  afraid ; 
For  all  they  have,  and  all  they  are,  is  thine  ! 
Song  is  thy  gift :  be  here  that  gift  divine 
Winged  by  thy  love,  and  chastened  by  thy  fear  ; 
And  while,  like  setting  stars,  our  lives  decline, 
Still  in  the  East  let  purer  orbs  appear, 
And  strains  that  seraphs  sing  find  answering  accents  here  ! 


(H  (5  e  5  0  £  i  a  I  £i  n  s  t  c  m . 


AN  ADDl^ESS 


rUONOUNCED  liEFOUE 


THE   HOUSE  OF  CONVOCATION, 


OF 


TllINITY    COLLEGE, 


HAllTFURI),  AUGUST  2,  1848. 


BY 


DANIEL    D.    fJARNAIlD,  LL.  D. 


i-UBLISllEO  AT   TUB  UEQUKST  OK  CUM  VOCATION. 


HARTFORD : 

SAMUEL    IIANMEH,    JR. CALENDAPw    PRESS. 

1  b  -1 S . 


ADDRESS. 


Mr.  Dean,  and  Gentlemen  of  Convocation, 

Trinity  College,  with  its  peculiar  organization,  cannot  fail 
to  have  a  good  deal  to  do  with  the  opinions  which  shall  be  held 
in  this  country  on  a  good  many  questions  of  great  practical  im- 
portance, interesting  alike  to  the  statesman,  the  philanthropist 
and  the  Christian.  It  has  that  peculiar  organization  believed  to 
be  best  calculated  to  presei've  and  maintain  within  itself  all  foiTns 
of  sound  doctrine — not  only  in  religion,  but  in  all  ethical  ques- 
tions, and  all  questions  touching  the  relations  of  men  in  the 
social  state.  Like  all  our  other  Colletres  it  has  its  lec^al  existence 
and  government  in  a  Corporation  ;  but  it  has  an  internal  organi- 
zation and  government  of  its  ovv^n,  which,  in  its  religious  aspect, 
is  according  to  Episcopal  fotms  and  polity.  The  President  of 
the  College  is  the  Ilector  of  the  Academical  body,  which  is 
supei"v'ised,  in  its  moral  and  spiritual  interests,  by  the  Bishop  of 
the  Diocese  in  which  it  is  situated.  It  is  thus  formed  into  a 
Religious,  as  well  as  an  Academical  Society,  and  is  so  far  built 
on  better  foundations  than  human  hands  could  lay.  It  is  a  Chris- 
tian Brotherhood,  domiciled  in  their  own  Halls  of  College,  and 
devoted  to  personal  cultivation  and  discipline,  and  to  the  business 
of  education — to  the  intellectual,  moral  and  religious  training  of 
young  men. 

A  feature,  quite  novel,  I  believe,  in  this  country,  in  the  organ- 
ization of  this  Collegiate  Society,  is  found  in  this  House  of  Con- 
vocation. This  is  the  second  House  of  the  Academical  Senate  ; 
the  other  being  the  Corporation,  consisting  of  the  legal  Trustees 
of  the  College.  This  House  is  composed  of  the  Fellows,  twelve 
in  number,  and  the  Professors  of  the  College,  with  all  persons 


4 

admitted  to  any  Academic  degree  therein.  In  this  way,  besides 
those  admitted  to  de"-rees  in  the  Arts,  or  in  the  hio^her  Faculties 
of  Law,  Medicine,  and  Divinity,  causa  honoris,  or  ad  eundem,  the 
ranks  of  the  Collegiate  Society  are  recruited  every  year  with  a 
body  of  young  men  trained  in  the  Institution,  and  nurtured  in  the 
Faith  which  it  professes.  Of  course  the  resident  members  of  the 
Collegiate  body  are  comparatively  few  at  all  times  ;  the  rest  are 
found  in  the  community  at  large,  but  gather  here  in  Convocation 
in  considerable  numbers,  on  stated  occasions,  like  that  on  which 
they  are  now  assembled.  Nor  is  this  House  a  mere  voluntary 
Association,  like  the  Societies  of  Alumni  found  in  our  Colleges 
generally.  It  has  an  official  existence,  so  constituted  by  the  legal 
authority  of  the  College,  with  appropriate  duties  assigned  to  it  in 
the  affairs  and  business  of  the  Institution. 

I  believe  I  am  not  mistaken  in  supposing — at  least  I  hope  I 
am  not — that,  while  the  hiQ;her  business  of  this  Collesje  is  to  be 
that  of  educating  young  men,  having  in  contemplation  an  educa- 
tional system  somewhat  after  the  plan  of  the  old  Univei'sities, 
there  is  also  an  open  design  to  make  this  Collegiate  body  an  Aux- 
iliary and  Helper,  in  its  appropriate  and  subordinate  sphere,  to 
those  other  and  higher,  because  divinely-constituted,  organiza- 
tions— that  of  the  Family,  that  of  the  State,  and  that  of  the 
Church — by  and  through  which,  indispensably,  men  are  every 
where  in  this  world  to  be  trained,  governed,  civilized  and  saved. 
I  suppose  that  the  true  design  and  attitude  of  this  College  before 
the  country,  will  not  be  materially  misapprehended  or  misrepre- 
sented, if  it  shall  be  regarded  and  understood  as  professing  alle- 
gience  to  the  Church,  as  well  as  to  the  State,  and  pledged  to 
maintain  and  teach  all  forms  of  sound  doctrine,  according  to  the 
only  standard  of  Truth  and  Duty  recognized  among  Christians, 
touching  whatever  may  affect  the  social  as  well  as  the  spiritual, 
condition  and  progress  of  mankind. 

Such  a  College,  so  constituted  and  organized,  and  imbued 
with  principles  which  never  have  failed  and  never  can  fail  any 
thing  or  any  body  tliat  relies  on  them,  must,  as  I  have  said,  come 
to  exercise  a  marked  influence  on  the  opinions  and  affairs  of  the 
community.  It  may  be  expected  that  a  body  of  opinion,  having 
its  foundation  always  broadly  laid  in  religious  truth,  and  bearing 
on  a  great  variety  of  practical  questions  of  the  highest  interest  to 


society,  will  bo  built  xip  and  steadily  maintained  here,  and  at  the 
same  time,  reprcsentetl  abroad  in  the  country  wherever  the  mem- 
bers of  Convocation  may  be  iound.  Meanwhile,  the  members  of 
the  Collegiate  body,  through  this  membership,  standing  every 
where  as  the  I'eprcsentatives  and  sponsoi's  of  the  sound  opinions 
maintained  in  this  place,  will  l)e  multij)lied  with  every  revolving 
year ;  and  when  other  Colleges,  following  this  good  example, 
and  organized  upon  this  plan,  shall  be  established  and  multiplied 
in  various  quarters,  the  way  may  be  opened  for  a  better  feeling 
of  security  than  can  prevail  at  present,  for  those  pnnciples  and 
institutions  on  which  society,  and  civilization,  and  all  true  pro- 
gress depend,  against  the  devices  and  passions  of  restless  and 
reckless  men,  by  which  now  they  are  almost  every  whei'e  assail- 
ed. Such  Collegiate  societies,  so  compacted  and  consolidated  in 
moral  sentiment,  and  resting  on  foundations  that  can  never  be 
moved,  may  stand  towards  this  agitated  and  abused  world  of  ours, 
in  a  relation  not  unlike  that  of  the  Breakwater  to  the  troubled 
Ocean — presenting  a  solid  wall,  against  which  all  the  turbulence 
and  fury  which  rage  without  may  spend  themselves  in  vain,  and 
within  and  behind  which  the  feeblest  vessels,  as  well  as  the  stout- 
est and  bravest,  may  ride  in  safety. 

The  present  is  a  penod  of  great  restlessness  and  agitation 
among  the  popular  elements  of  the  world.  The  established  or- 
der of  things  is  almost  eveiy  where  being  questioned,  disturbed, 
and,  in  many  cases,  subverted.  There  is  a  great  demand  for 
rights,  and  for  the  redress  of  wrongs — which  is  all  very  well,  only 
one  would  like  to  be  able  to  discover,  along  with  these,  some 
corresponding  enquiry  after  duties  and  obligations.  While  every 
body  is  thinking  of  rights  and  nobody  is  thinking  of  duties,  it  is 
not  likely  that  any  very  valuable  discoveries  will  be  made  or 
improvements  effected.  Statesmanship,  or  what  goes  by  that 
name,  is  very  much  employed  of  late  in  teaching  mankind  that 
political  government,  even  in  the  mildest  and  purest  fomi  yet 
devised,  instead  of  be'ng  something  ordained  of  God,  if  necessary 
at  all  is  a  necessaiy  evil,  and  is  little  else  any  where  than  a  stu- 
pendous fraud  on  human  rights  and  human  liberty,  devised  and 
pi-actised  by  cunning  and  wicked  men  for  their  own  purposes  of 
oppression  and  profit.  Philanthropy,  becoming  speculative  and 
philosophical,  seems  to  discover  no  way  of  rigJiting  the  wronged, 


redressing  the  grievances  and  remedying  the  miseries  of  man- 
kind, but  by  turning  society  the  bottom  side  up,  and  the  upside 
down.  Even  in  RcHgion,  there  are  so  many  short  and  easy 
methods  to  the  conversion  of  the  woi'ld,  and  men  love  indepen- 
dence so  much  better  than  obedience,  that  any  way  seems  better 
to  multitudes  of  men  than  the  appointed  way  ;  this  becomes  a 
naiTOw  road  which  shows  only  here  and  thei'e  a  traveller.  Pop- 
ular revolutions  are  now-a-days  eficctcd  with  strange  facility — 
happily  with  comparatively  little  bloodshed,  even  in  countries 
little  given  to  change  ;  and  in  this  country,  we  have  discovered  a 
method  of  revolutionizing  a  state  or  government,  with  about  as 
little  trouble  as  a  reverse  motion  is  given  to  the  engine  of  a  loco- 
motive, or  a  steamer.  We  can  go  forward,  or  back,  or  turn  on 
our  course  by  a  sharp  angle,  without  seeming  to  derange  the 
political  machinery  in  any  sensible  degree.  All  this  we  do  in  the 
name  of  reform  and  of  progress,  INIen  are  becoming  wise  above 
what  is  written,  whetlier  on  profane  or  sacred  pages.  Govern- 
ment and  Law  are  allowed  to  have  very  little  stability,  and 
therefore  command  very  little  respect.  And  as  for  the  Func- 
tionaries of  Government,  and  the  Ministers  of  the  Law,  they  are 
apt  to  be  regarded,  and  too  often,  personally  considered,  seern 
only  worthy  to  be  regarded,  not  as  governors  and  rulers  set  up, 
according  to  divine  authority,  "for  the  punishment  of  evil-doers 
and  the  praise  of  those  that  do  well" — not  as  representing  the 
majesty  of  the  Law  or  of  the  State — but  as  sei^vile  placemen,  who 
perhaps  have  forfeited  their  honor  in  gaining  their  places,  and 
who  represent  nothing — but  a  job. 

Perhaps  the  severest  trial  to  which  the  virtue  of  any  people 
can  be  subjected,  is  when  every  man  has  a  share  in  the  Govern- 
ment ;  for  when  every  one  governs,  few  indeed  are  willing  to 
submit  to  be  governed ;  when  every  one  commands,  nobody  likes 
to  obey.  Yet  the  habit  and  practice  of  obedience  is  indispensa- 
ble to  the  moral  health  of  every  people ;  and  there  can  be  no 
habits  of  obedience,  when  there  is  no  habitual  reverence  or 
respect  for  the  laws,  or  for  the  public  authorities.  No  commu- 
nity can  very  long  govern  itself  by  popular  forms,  which  discards 
or  turns  its  back  on  the  cardinal  principle  of  loyalty  and  obedi- 
ence as  a  religious  sentiment  and  duty.  When  demagogues  take 
the  control  of  the  pcojile,  and  become  their  schoolmasters,  they 


will  very  soon  bo  educated  out  of  every  true  notion  of  govern- 
ment and  every  true  idea  of  liberty.  Liberty  which  does  not 
consist  with  government  and  law,  is  not  that  sort  of  liberty  which 
Angels  enjoy,  and  is  quite  as  little  suited  to  the  condition  of  those 
who  are  made  a  little  lower  than  the  Angels.  Liberty  without 
government  and  law,  properly  befits  only  those  indejiendent  spir- 
its, to  whom  belong 

"tho  unconquerable  will. 
And  study  of  revenge,  immortal  hatp. 
And  courage  never  to  submit  or  yield.'' 

But  not  to  rest,  in  what  I  have  to  say,  altogether  in  generali- 
ties. Perhaps  I  cannot  better  acquit  myself  of  the  duty  imposed 
upon  me  here,  than  by  offering  to  those  Avho  are  doing  me  the 
honor  to  listen  to  me  on  this  occasion,  some  observations  on  tho 
idea  of  the  Social  State,  with  some  reference  to  the  foundations, 
in  respect  to  political  organizations,  on  which  Modem  Civiliza- 
tion stands,  and  with  some  reference,  also,  to  the  principles  on 
which  all  improvement  and  all  progress  in  the  social  condition  of 
mankind  must  depend. 

It  cannot  be  too  often  repeated,  or  too  strongly  insisted  on, 
wherever  the  tiiith  on  this  subject  is  meant  to  be  sternly  vindica- 
ted— and  in  this  I  do  but  respond  to  tho  sentiment  of  both  tho 
eloquent  gentlemen  who  have  preceded  me  in  an  Address  before 
this  body — that  there  are  three  organizations  in  the  world,  of 
special  and  divine  appointment ;  that  of  the  Family,  that  of  the 
State,  and  that  of  the  Church.  These  are  three  distinct  yet  par- 
allel and  consistent  forms  of  organic  existence  and  order,  which 
together,  in  their  pei"fection  and  purity,  and  according  to  their 
universality,  must  give  and  secure  to  mankind  all  the  comfort  and 
happiness  which  they  are  capable  of  in  a  life  of  trial  and  disci- 
pline. The  first  of  these  social  organizations,  through  which  the 
human  being  is  introduced  into  this  mortal  state,  reaches  back  to 
that  void  region  of  nothingness  out  of  which  he  is  taken  ;  the  last, 
through  which  he  may  hope  to  be  finally  introduced  into  a  new 
existence  and  a  more  perfect  society,  connects  itself  with  that 
boundless  Future  aiter  which  every  rational  mind  lifts  a  hopeful 
aspiration. 


8 

If  men  cannot  be  made  happy  in  this  life,  in  and  through  these 
three  organizations,  they  cannot  be  made  happy  at  all.  If  they 
cannot  be  made  hapi)y  in  subjection  to  the  fundamental  and  ne- 
cessary principles  involved  in  these  three  organizations,  they 
cannot  be  made  happy  at  all.  And  the  great  fact  in  regard  to 
each  and  all  of  them  is  this  ;  that  there  are  law^s,  to  be  enforced 
and  to  be  obeyed  ;  there  is  authority  on  one  side — authority  of 
divine  ordination — and  there  must  be  obedience  on  the  other. — 
Men  can  never  be  happy  till  these  laws,  and  this  authority,  are 
reverenced,  submitted  to,  and  obeyed. 

There  have  been  a  great  many  devices  first  and  last  in  the 
world  for  escaping  from  the  restraints  of  necessary  law  and 
authority.  Demagogues  and  disorganizers  must  be  expected  to 
go  wrong  in  this  matter  of  course.  They  go  wrong  of  purpose, 
or  they  follow  a  will  and  way  of  their  own,  no  matter  whether  it 
be  right  or  wrong.  But  there  are  Refoitners,  who  do  as  much 
mischief  in  their  way  as  the  others,  who  yet  probably  mean  well, 
and  really  desire  to  serve  the  interests  of  mankind  in  the  best 
manner.  And  there  are  Philanthropists  who  devote  their  lives 
to  doing  good — and  it  is  really  wonderful  how  much  good  some 
of  them  seem  to  do,  considering  the  pei-verse  and  wrong  way  in 
which  they  set  about  it.  If  these  RefoiTners  and  Philanthro- 
pists had  always  kept  in  mind  and  in  view,  the  necessary  exis- 
tence and  sacred  character  of  the  three  organizations,  or  forms 
of  social  life,  to  which  I  have  refeiTed,  with  some  proper  appre- 
ciation of  their  claims  on  the  reverence  and  obedience  of  all  men ; 
if  their  plans  had  been  formed  with  reference  to  them  ;  if  they 
had  acted,  or  professed  to  act,  in  and  through  them,  and  by 
means  and  agencies  strictly  auxiliary  to  them  ;  it  cannot  be  doubt- 
ed that  the  cause  of  Humanity  and  Civilization  would  have  been 
much  better  sensed  by  them  than  it  has  been.  Indeed,  the 
cause  df  Humanity  and  Civilization — the  permanent  bettering  of 
the  social  condition  of  mankind — has  never  been  promoted  at  all, 
by  any  moans  or  agency  whatever  which  was  essentially  at  war 
with  these  social  foniis,  or  which  was  designed  to  operate,  and 
did  operate,  independently  of  them. 

I  recur  to  the  fact,  that  the  necessary  constituent  parts  of  the 
social  system  of  a  Christian  country  like  this,  are  the  three  Or- 
ganizations or  Associations,  to  which  I  have  referred  ;  namely  : 


9 

that  of  the  Family,  that  of  the  State,  and  that  of  the  Church. — 
Let  me,  in  the  fli.st  place,  take  a  brief  view  of  our  Political  organ- 
ization. It  is  in  this  Political  organization  that  the  Social  Sys- 
tem of  any  country  has  its  chief  outward  expression  and  mani- 
festation, in  the  view  and  estimation  of  the  common  mind. 

The  Social  System  of  the  country  is  not  a  thing  about  which 
we,  or  any  body  who  lives  under  it,  may  be  indifferent — unless 
we  are  indiderent  to  life,  and  nearly  all  that  renders  life  worth 
having.  It  touches  every  one  of  us  very  nearly ;  it  connects 
itself  intimately  with  our  life,  in  all  its  relations,  with  what  we 
are,  and  what  we  have,  and  what  we  enjoy,  or  may  hope  to  en- 
joy. It  connects  itself  intimately  with  our  intellectual  life,  our 
moral,  religious,  and  social  life.  None  of  these  could  be  what 
they  are  without  it.  It  guards  our  infancy,  it  nourishes  our 
manhood,  it  comforts  our  age — in  so  far  as  these  are  guarded, 
and  nourished,  and  comforted  at  all  in  the  social  state — and  when 
it  can  no  longer  give  us  present  enjoyments,  or  we  can  no  longer 
taste  or  relish  them,  it  comes  to  us  with  Hopes  and  Promises 
that  light  up  the  darkness  of  the  Future,  and  enable  us  to  see 
our  children,  and  those  who  shall  stand  in  our  places,  with  the 
uncounted  hosts  to  which  their  numbers  shall  be  swelled  in  suc- 
cessive generations,  fortunate  and  happy  as  we  have  been,  and 
perhaps  far  more  fortunate  and  happy  than  we  have  been. 

The  first  thing  to  be  remarked  in  this  connection  is  the  neces- 
sary existence  in  every  country  of  a  social  system  of  some  sort. 
Man  is  essentially  a  social  being.  This  is  his  state  of  nature. 
He  is  under  a  positive  necessity  to  live  in  society,  and  form  social 
relations  with  his  fellows  ;  and  it  is  not  a  mere  instinct  with  him 
to  live  in  society,  as  it  is  with  many  creatures  lower  down  in  the 
scale  of  animal  life  ;  it  is  a  real  necessity.  He  cannot  live  at  all, 
except  in  the  social  state — I  mean  he  cannot  live  as  man,  he  can- 
not be  man,  except  in  ihe  social  state.  He  may  exist  in  solitude, 
but  undisputed  facts  have  shown  that  he  ceases  to  be  human,  and 
becomes  the  most  abject  and  miserable  of  brutes.  His  structure 
and  constitution  make  it  just  as  certain  that  he  was  formed  to 
live  in  society,  as  the  structure  and  constitution  of  fishes  that  they 
were  made  to  live  in  the  water,  or  those  of  birds  that  they  were 
made  to  live  in  the  air.  His  faculties  cannot  grow,  they  cannot 
be  developed,  in  any  otlier  state,  any  more  than  fishes  could  grow 

2 


10 

in  the   air,  or  birds  grow  under  the  water.     His   faculties   are 
adapted  to  the  Social  state — all  of  them,  moral,  and  religious,  and 
intellectual,  and  mechanical  ;  there  they  have  their  aliment,  and 
find  employment  and  exercise,  and  get  their  growth  and  their 
sti'ength.     How  else  is  he  to  have  any  affections,  reflections,  sen- 
timents, opinions,  judgments '?     These  must  have  related  objects 
towards  which,  or  by  which,  they  are  to  be  drawn  out  and  exer- 
cised ;  and  where  else  is  he  to  find  these  related  objects  1     As 
man,  his  education,  the  eduction   of  all  the  powers  and  feelings 
that  constitute  him  man,  begins  in  the  cradle,  and  goes  on,  to  the 
grave  ;  it  begins  in  the  cradle,  because  there  human  eyes  watch 
over  him,  and  human  voices   are  about  him,  and  he  is  the  object 
of  human  ministrations.     He  is  born  into  society,  and  his  teach- 
ers are  always  near  him,  and  if  they  were   not,  he  would  know 
nothing,  and  he  would  be  nothing,  but  a  very  miserable   and  bru- 
tish animal.    On  the  mother's  knee,  in  the  bosom  of  the  family,  he 
has  his  fust  lessons,  reaching  the  heart,   and  the  fancy,  and  the 
mind,  through  the   electric   chain   of  human   sympathies  which 
binds  heart  to  heart,  and  fancy  to  fancy,  and  mind  to  mind.    And 
so  the  eduction  of  his  powers  and  feelings  goes  on,  througli  all 
the  stages  of  his  mortal  being,  and  he  is  man,  with  the  faculties 
and  senses,   the  sense  and  sensibilities  of  man.     In  every  new 
condition,  in  every  new  relation  of  life,  he  receives  this  education 
and  development ;  in  his  youth,  manhood  and  age  ;  in  the  family, 
the  seminary,  and  the  church  ;  in  the  walks  of  pleasure,  and  in 
the  walks  of  business;  in  the  field,  the  work-shop,  the  counting- 
house  ;  in  popular  assemblies,  in  courts,  and  halls  of  legislation  ; 
and  wherever  his  lot  is  cast,  be  it  among  the  great,  the  affluent, 
the  luxurious,  or  away  down  among  the  humblest  of  his  kind, 
where  he  struggles  with  the  hardest  necessities  ;  be   it  in  pros- 
perous or  adverse  fortune,  in  sickness  or  health,  in  joy  or  grief; 
whatever  he  may  be,  and  wherever  he  may  be,  and  however  his 
life  or  lot  be  cast,  if  only  it  be  among  men,  in  society  and  not  in 
solitude,  he  is  always  under  instruction  and  discipline,  and  always 
receiving  this  education  and  development  and  exercise  of  his  fiic- 
ulties — it  may  be  a  very  partial  development,   or  it  may  be  full 
and  ample,  according  to  circumstances  and  condition  ;  but  what- 
ever it  be,  and  however  inconsiderable,  he  could  not  have  even 
that  little  in   any  other  way.     Man  in   solitude   could  not  even 


11 

have  the  faculty  of  speech  ;  and  as  ho  could  not  converse,  he 
could  not  think  or  reason  ;  he  could  not  have  reflection,  or  sym- 
pathy, or  sense,  or  allcction.  And  what  sort  of  a  human  being 
would  that  be  '/ 

Man  is,  then,  essentially  a  social  being  ;  and  wherever  men  are 
found  on  this  earth,  they  are  found  in  society,  and  with  some  sort 
of  social  organization.  They  live  together  in  the  social  state; 
and  this  social  state  implies  organization  and  regulation,  it  im- 
plies polity  and  government.  Men  cannot  live  together  without 
regulation,  without  rule,  without  authority.  And  this  is  just  as 
much  a  law  of  their  nature,  and  a  law  of  necessity,  as  that  they 
should  live  in  society  at  all.  There  is  a  popular  phrase,  often 
employed  and  applied  to  the  human  being — namely — "living  in 
a  state  of  nature  ;"  and  by  which  it  is  meant  to  express,  or  as- 
sume, what  cannot  possibly  be  true,  cither  first,  that  man  as  man, 
may  live  and  grow  \ip  in  solitude,  without  connection  or  associa- 
tion in  any  way  Avith  his  fellows  ;  or,  next,  that  men  may  aggre- 
gate, and  so  live  together  in  herds,  as  wild  horses  do  r).i  the  great 
prairies,  without  any  principle  of  association  or  rtgiilation,  and 
with  a  complete  personal  independence  in  each  individual — in 
short,  that  men  may  live  together,  without  living  together  in  soci- 
ety, without  living  in  the  social  state.  But  this  is  impossible  ; 
the  constitution  of  his  nature  does  not  admit  of  any  thing  of  the 
sort.  Men  must  not  only  live  together  side  by  side,  but  they 
must  live  together  in  relationship.  Their  natures  are  expressly 
adapted  to  their  living  together  in  relationship.  All  their  great 
interests  in  life  are  interests  of  mutual  or  reciprocal  relation- 
ship, and  about  these  their  best  and  highest  faculties  and  affec- 
tions are  employed  and  exercised.  Without  them,  indeed,  their 
higher  faculties  and  affections  would  not  be  developed  at  all. — 
The  relations  of  men  to  each  other  in  society,  especially  where  a 
high  state  of  civilization  has  been  attained,  are  almost  infinite, 
and  all  these  bring  with  them  reciprocal  obligations  and  duties, 
and  these  obligations  and  duties  bring  with  them  in  their  turn,  the 
necessity  of  regulation,  of  rule,  of  authority,  of  government. 
There  has  been  no  society,  no  aggregation  of  men  on  the  earth — 
History  does  not  inform  us  of  any — so  rude  and  savage,  as  to  have 
been  without  some  sort  of  organization,  some  sort  of  rule  and 
government.     All  have  had  their  laws,  and   some  authority  by 


12 

which  those  laws  are  enforced.  Cimmerians,  Scythians,  Sarma- 
tians,  even  these  had  their  laws,  and  tlieir  public  authority.  In 
its  more  advanced  stages,  human  society  comes  to  be  filled  with 
complex  relations,  and  is  governed  by  complex  laws.  And  under 
and  through  these  relations  and  laws  men  come  into  life,  receive 
nurtui'e,  receive  instruction,  receive  protection,  establish  connec- 
tions, labor  in  their  callings,  acquire  and  hold  proj^erty,  are  fed 
and  clothed,  and  warmed,  and  sheltered  in  houses,  rear  and  edu- 
cate children,  worship  God,  and  so,  having  finished  their  course, 
pass  away,  and  sleep  in  protected,  and  it  may  be  honored 
graves. 

Of  necessity,  then,  according  to  the  constitution  of  human  na- 
ture, and  by  the  appointment  of  God,  men  live  together  in  society, 
in  the  social  state,  and  under  some  sort  of  social  organization, 
and  civil  polity.  Every  peojjle  must  have  a  social  system,  of 
one  kind  or  another  ;  it  may  be  very  complete,  or  it  may  be  very 
imperfect.  If  it  be  not  one  thing,  it  must  be  another*.  If  it  do 
not  indicate  a  high  state  of  civilization,  it  will  indicate  a  mode- 
rate degree,  or  a  low  degree  of  civilization,  or  no  civilization  at 
all.  The  Social  System  of  any  country,  as  it  is  found  embodied 
in  its  political  forms,  may  be  propei-ly  regarded  as  expressing 
the  state  of  civilization  to  which  that  country  has  attained.  This 
is  a  point  of  principal  interest  belonging  to  the  political  organi- 
zation ;  and  another  is  this  ;  that  it  forms  and  constitutes  a  guar- 
anty for  the  conservation  and  maintenance  of  its  civilization  up  to 
the  point  to  which  it  has  already  been  carried.  If  besides  this, 
the  political  organization  be  such  as  to  foster  and  favor  a  spirit 
of  improvement  and  progress  in  the  line  of  genuine  civilization, 
and  so  expansive  and  elastic  withal  as  to  comprehend  and  secure 
every  advance  that  is  made,  every  new  point  of  good  and  excel- 
lence that  may  be  attained,  to  the  entire  avoidance  of  all  neces- 
sity or  excuse  for  violent  changes  and  revolutions,  whether  bloody 
or  bloodless ;  if  such  be  the  political  organization  of  any  coun- 
try, happy  and  blessed  are  the  people  that  are  in  such  a  case. — 
But,  then,  they  must  know  and  understand  themselves,  and  the 
real  advantages  of  their  condition,  and  they  must  be  capable  of 
conducting  their  affairs  in  moderation,  and  under  the  lead  of  wise 
and  moderate  counsels,  in  order  to  secure  to  themselves  the 
greatest  amount  of  present  benefit  and  enjoyment,  and,  at  the 


13 

same  time,  and  all  tho  while,  to  be  laying  broader  and  deeper 
the  foundations  of  public  virtue  and  public  happiness. 

We  will  look,  then,  briefly,  at  our  political  organization  in  this 
country — the  forms  of  our  American  civil  polity. 

Taking,  in  tho  first  place,  altogether  an  outside  view  of  our 
political  organization,  we  notice  here  a  nation,  properly  so  cal- 
led, and  a  national  government,  or  central  governing  power. 
And  do  not  let  us  make  the  mistake  of  supposing  that  this  is  too 
common-place  a  fact,  to  be  of  any  account  or  consequence.  We 
could  not  well  be  a  civilized  people  without  this  strictly  national 
organization  and  government.  European  civilization  exists  un- 
der this  form  of  polititical  organization — about  all  there  is  of  it ; 
and  it  is  under  this  form  that  civilization  has  made  the  highest 
advance  thus  far  in  the  history  of  the  world. 

And  let  it  here  be  observed,  that  it  took  Europe  a  thousand 
years  to  reach  this  advanced  political  condition.  From  the  fall 
of  the  Roman  empire  in  the  fifth,  to  the  middle  of  the  fifteenth 
century,  there  was  properly  no  such  thing  as  a  nation  in  Europe  ; 
there  was  no  nationality,  in  the  true,  modern  sense  of  the  word. 
Alfred  in  England,  came  nearer  to  making  a  national  establish- 
ment than  any  body  else  in  all  Eui'Ope  down  to  the  fifteenth  cen- 
tury ;  but  the  English  nation  was  not  actually  formed  and  estab- 
lished till  the  period  of  the  accession  of  Henry  VII.,  and  the  union 
of  the  rival  houses  of  York  and  Lancaster.  Charlemagne  was 
the  head  of  a  mighty  kingdom,  but  he  was  not  the  sovereign  of  a 
true  nation.  The  idea  of  a  modern  nation  is  this  :  That  it  is 
composed  of  one  homogenous  people,  forming  one  body,  with  a 
certain  distinctive  character,  and  having  a  certain  principle  of 
unity  ;  occupying  a  fixed  residence  and  home,  that  is,  having  a 
country  to  which  fixed  limits  are  assigned ;  and  subject,  as  a 
nation,  and  in  its  unity  as  such,  to  one  central  government.  There 
must  be  a  people,  forming  a  body  politic,  having  a  public  senti- 
ment, and  will,  and  wisdom  of  its  own,  such  as  these  may  be; 
and  there  inust  be  a  government  representing  the  nation,  as  the 
Patriarch  represents  the  Family,  or  the  Tribe,  and  presiding  and 
rulinsr  over  it.  Such  is  a  modern  nation  with  its  jrovemment.  It 
is  a  political  family  ;  and  it  was  the  marshalling  of  mankind  into 
great  political  families,  each  having  its  own  proper  representa- 
tive and  governing  head,  and  in  each  of  which  a  certain  character 


14 

and  principle  of  unity  prevails,  which  marked  the  era  and  com- 
mencement of  modern  civilization  in  Europe.  This  did  not 
begin,  as  I  have  said,  till  the  fifteenth  century.  It  is  only  since 
that  period,  that  we  have  the  English  nation,  and  the  French 
nation,  and  the  Spanish  nation,  and  the  rest.  The  modem  na- 
tions of  Europe  have  been  formed  from  elements  supplied  main- 
ly out  of  the  loins  of  those  wandering  and  barbaric  ti-ibes  of  the 
great  German  stock  of  our  race,  before  which  the  Roman  empire 
fell,  and  which,  finally,  spread  themselves  nearly  all  over  the  con- 
tinent. It  is  these  Germans,  with  the  Sclavonic  population  of  the 
north,  supposed  to  be  descended  from  the  Sai'matians,  as  the 
Germans  were  from  the  Scythians,  which  together  constitute,  at 
this  day,  the  nations  of  Eui'ope,  now  the  keepei's  and  consei-\'a- 
tors  of  the  highest  civilization  to  which  humanity  has  yet  attain- 
ed in  the  Old  World.  That  is  the  civilization  in  which  we  in  this 
country,  having  a  common  origin  with  them,  participate  ;  it  is 
that  civilization  on  which,  as  a  general  foundation,  ours  is  built. 

Now  the  great  fact  which  the  history  of  the  races  to  which  I 
have  refen'cd  to,  from  the  time  of  their  irruption  into  Europe, 
discloses,  is  that  already  named  ;  that  modern  civilization  did  not 
begin  to  show  itself  till  those  tribes  and  hordes,  after  a  thousand 
years  of  error  and  confusion,  of  painful  preparation  and  disci- 
pline, were  resolved  into  distinct  nations,  with  a  certain  centrali- 
zation of  power  to  form  a  government  in  each  case,  and  a  certain 
principle  of  unity  and  individuality  in  the  nation  itself.  It  is  not, 
of  course,  my  purpose  to  undertake  to  show  the  tedious  process 
by  which  this  point  was  gained ;  that  would  involve  an  historical 
review  not  to  be  attempted  here.  It  is  the  fact  to  which  I  wish 
to  attract  your  particular  attention,  as  one  which  all  may  easily 
verify  by  a  recurrence  to  the  history  of  the  period,  and  which  no 
one  already  familiar  with  that  history  will  deny  or  doubt. 

The  political  power  of  Europe  for  about  four  centuries,  count- 
ing from  the  overthrow  of  the  Western  Empire  of  Rome,  was 
essentially  barbarian.  Society  itself  was  essentially  barbarian. 
Even  the  Church,  as  it  existed  among  the  Gennan  hordes  of  the 
period,  when  rude  and  ignorent  men  intmded  into  her  sacred 
offices,  and  priests  and  even  bishops,  like  Salone  and  Sagittarius, 
became  chiefs  of  marauding  bands,  and  wandered  over  the  coun- 
try, within  their  own  bishoprics,  pillaging  and  ravaging  as  they 


15 

went — even  the  Church  was  at  least  half  barbarian.  This  was 
the  piimitivc  state  of  modern  Europe,  with  some  partial  relief 
from  this  general  condition,  in  particular  quarters. 

The  Feudal  Sy.stem,  rising  out  of  the  bosom  of  barbarian  soci- 
ety, introduced  a  change,  in  some  respects  salutary,  but  while  it 
lasted  in  its  vigor,  rendering  all  attempts,  or  tendencies,  towards 
national  formation,  and  the  centralization  of  power,  wholly  una- 
vailing and  abortive.  Causes,  however  were  at  work,  and  events 
came  on,  which  favored  the  consolidation  of  states  and  empires. 
When  the  Crusades  were  ended,  the  power  of  Feudalism,  as  a 
political  system,  was  very  much  broken.  The  independent  juris- 
diction and  fierce  authority  of  multitudes  of  baronial  chiefs  had 
very  much  given  Avay.  The  People  began  to  rise  into  importance 
and  consideration  on  the  one  hand,  and  kintjs  and  sovereitins  on 
the  other.  Authority,  control,  the  power  of  government,  nation- 
al sovereignty,  was  beginning  to  be  centralized  and  exist  in  fewer 
hands.  And  finally  it  resulted,  as  I  have  said  already,  that  thei-e 
arose  in  Europe  real  nations,  and  real  national  governments. 
Kings  began  to  rule  as  they  had  not  ruled  before  ;  for  it  is  to  be 
remarked  that  Monarchy  was  the  almost  universal  form  which 
government  assumed  whenever,  and  wherever,  the  Germanic  and 
Sclavonian  population  became  really  nationalized.  At  first,  how- 
ever, this  monarchy  was  something  very  different  from  what  it 
afterwards  became,  or  attempted  to  make  itself.  It  was  then 
i-epresentative.  The  great  fundamental  principle  of  national  or 
po{)ular  consent,  was  recognized  as  the  foundation  of  rightful 
authority,  exercised  under  existing  forms.  Monarchy,  as  a  par- 
ticular form  of  government,  was  the  expression  and  embodiment 
of  the  collective  will  and  aggregate  wisdom  of  the  nation.  It 
was  a  new  doctrine,  that  which  was  afterwards  set  up,  that  the 
Sovereign  represented  nothing  but  his  own  will,  and  that  he  held 
his  power,  not  by  any  consent  of  the  nation  to  the  INIonarchy,  as 
a  particular  form  of  government,  but  by  an  absolute  and  a  divine 
right  personal  to  himself.  This  was  a  great  error  which  has  not 
been  corrected  in  all  cases,  wthout  popular  revolutions.  And 
though  examples  of  absolutism  in  government  still  remain  in 
Europe,  yet  it  may  bo  safely  affirmed  that  the  only  kind  of  mon- 
archy recognized  at  this  day,  as  legitimate,  by  enlightened  public 
ophiion,  in  any  part  of  Europe,  is  that  which  makes  the  Sove- 


16 

reign  only  the  Chief  Magistrate  of  the  nation,  the  center  and 
bond  of  society,  the  chief  conservator  of  the  public  peace  and  of 
public  order,  and  the  chief  administrator  of  the  general  justice  of 
the  realm  ;  representing  in  his  person,  the  majesty  of  the  State, 
and  the  Avill  and  wisdom  of  the  body  of  the  nation,  as  expressed 
in  the  particular  form  of  government  which  it  has  chosen,  or  by 
which  it  abides,  and  of  which  the  office  of  the  sovereign  is  only 
an  incident. 

The  true  condition,  then,  of  civilization  in  Europe,  at  the  pres- 
ent day,  as  expressed  in  the  forms  of  political  organization,  is 
undoubtedly  this  :  it  rests  on  the  general  fact  that  the  population 
has  come  to  be  arranged  into  distinct  nations,  or  national  fami- 
lies, with  a  centralized  power  constituting  in  each  the  national 
government ;  and  it  may  be  remarked,  that  in  these  nations  re- 
spectively, civilization  is  more  or  less  advanced,  other  things 
being  equal,  as  the  principle  of  unity  has  more  or  less  prevailed 
in  the  nation,  and  that  of  representation  in  the  centralized  and 
goveraing  power. 

And  now  to  come  back  to  the  more  immediate  consideration  of 
our  own  political  organization.  We  have  here  a  nation,  and  a 
national  government  ;  we  have  this  form  of  civilization  ;  and  so 
far  as  this  is  concerned,  without  any  further  comjjarison  of  polit- 
ical or  social  systems,  we  stand  on  the  same  line  of  advance  with 
the  leading  civilized  nations  of  the  old  world.  Now,  there  are 
two  leading  points  to  be  considered,  in  order  to  detennine  wheth- 
er the  existing  condition  of  our  civilization,  so  far  as  it  depends 
on  political  organization,  is  likely  to  be  maintained  and  preser- 
ved, and  what  promise  there  is  that  any  advance  or  progress 
will  be  made.  These  points  have  refei'ence,  first,  to  the  principle 
of  unity  in  respect  to  the  nation — how  that  principle  is  provided 
for  and  secured  in  its  political  forms,  and  how,  if  at  all,  it  is  like- 
ly to  be  violated  and  sacrificed  in  the  progress  of  events ;  and 
next,  to  the  pi'inciple  of  representation  in  respect  to  the  govern- 
ment— how  that  principle  is  provided  for  and  secured,  and  how, 
if  at  all,  it  is  likely  to  be  violated  and  sacrificed.  It  will  not,  of 
course,  be  expected  that  I  should  go  into  any  elaborate  examina- 
tion of  the  points  of  consideration  and  enquiry  here  presented. 
I  can  only  speak  on  the  whole  subject  in  the  most  general  way, 
leaving  it  to  every  one,  as  his  own  inclination  or  desire  may 


17 

prompt,  to  pursue  tho  investigation  for  himself  in  the  lino  of 
enquiry  which  I  have  indicated. 

If  we  go  back  to  that  period  of  most  uncommon  interest,  when 
this  nation  was  formed,  when  this  people  became  a  nation,  and 
provided  a  national  government  for  itself,  we  cannot  fail  to  be 
struck  with  the  remarkable  completeness  and  perfectncss  of  our 
political  organization  in  both  the  important  particulars  to  which 
I  have  adverted.  Representation  in  Government  was  a  thing 
the  people  had  long  been  familiar  with,  and  if  a  general  govern- 
ment were  to  be  established  at  all,  it  could  not  be  bottomed  on 
any  other  principle.  But  there  was  a  desperate  struggle  against 
forming  a  Union  ;  this  was  the  point  of  difficulty.  There  could 
not  be  a  nation  without  it ;  and  there  was  in  some  of  the  States, 
in  the  smallest  as  well  as  others,  the  same  reluctance  and  resis- 
tance to  the  plan,  aiising  from  the  same  desire  and  pride  of 
wielding  an  independent  though  petty  jurisdiction,  and  a  nominal 
sovereignty,  which  had  operated  in  Europe  for  centuries  to  keep 
up  the  existence  of  a  thousand  miserable,  independent  local  ju- 
risdictions and  sovereignties,  and  prevent  their  fusion,  or  consoli- 
dation into  nations.  But  when  the  Union  was  carried,  when  the 
States  had  agi'eed  to  consolidate  and  form  a  nation,  it  was  seen 
and  felt  at  once,  that  the  true  elements  of  a  nation  were  there, 
and  the  true  principles  of  national  unity  to  combine  and  bind 
them  in  one  body. 

In  regard  to  this  principle  of  unity.  The  people  of  the  seve- 
ral States  had  been  colonists  together  under  the  same  imperial 
and  distant  power.  They  had  struggled  together  against  tha 
exactions  of  that  power,  and  what  they  felt  to  be  evils  of  their 
political  condition.  They  had  gone  through  a  long,  exhausting, 
and  bloody  war  together,  for  their  common  relief  and  emancipa- 
tion, which  they  had  secured  by  common  and  heroic  sacrifices. — 
They  wei-e  a  homogeneous  people,  having  had  nearly  a  common 
origin  ;  they  spoke  a  common  language,  and  had  a  common  lite- 
rature ;  their  moral  and  intellectual  training  had  been  very 
much  the  same ;  the  principal  elements  of  personal  character 
were  very  much  the  same  in  the  several  states  ;  and  in  reference 
to  the  leading  affairs  and  concerns  of  human  life,  they  entertained 
views,  and  sentiments,  and  feelings,  in  common,  at  least  quite  as 
nearly  so  as  the  like  thing  had  ever  been  witnessed  in  any  exam- 

3 


18 

pie,  or  case,  of  a  great  community,  at  all  distinguished  for  intel- 
ligence, in  any  quarter,  or  any  ago  of  the  world  ;  and,  finally, 
though  they  occupied  a  country,  even  then,  of  very  liberal  extent, 
which  brought  the  very  extremes  of  climate  within  its  boundaries, 
and  gave  great  variety  to  their  industry  and  their  productions, 
there  was  a  manifest  and  intelligent  bond  of  union  in  all  the  lead- 
ing articles  and  particulars  of  their  economical  interests  and  bu- 
siness affairs. 

Such,  then,  was  the  American  people,  when  by  their  own  vol- 
untary and  intelligent  act  and  action,  they  resolved  and  formed 
themselves  into  a  nation.  They  were  one  people  ;  one  in  race, 
in  tongue,  in  complexion,  in  habits,  in  ideas,  in  religion,  in  feel- 
ings, in  intelligence,  in  moral  temperament,  in  general  interests, 
in  laws,  in  manners  and  customs.  And  there  was  something  dis- 
tinct and  distinguishing  about  them,  which  marked  and  separated 
them  from  every  other  people  under  the  sun— even  from  that 
people  which  was  the  great  hive  out  of  which  they  had  origi- 
nally swarmed,  and  with  which  they  had  so  long  maintained  an 
intimate  political  connection.  They  were  American  in  charac- 
ter; and  not  English — they  were  even  then,  in  the  first  hours 
and  months  of  their  separation,  scai'cely  more  English  in  charac- 
ter, than  they  were  French  or  German.  Their  national  charac- 
ter was  Ameiican,  and  nothing  else.  And  between  the  extreme 
North  and  the  extreme  South,  there  was  nothing  more  conside- 
rable to  break  its  expressive  unity  than  such  agreeable  shades  of 
difference  as  might  mark  the  remote  descendant  of  the  round- 
head and  puritan  on  the  one  hand,  and  of  the  cavalier  of  the 
same  country  on  the  other ;  such  shades  of  difference  as  might 
mark  the  varying  moods  of  the  same  individual  character,  break 
up  its  dullness  and  tedious  uniformity,  and  give  it  animation, 
strength  and  beauty. 

The  advantages  of  this  more  complete  unity  of  national  char- 
acter to  civilization,  to  the  progress  of  society  and  of  man,  are 
in  most  respects  so  obvious,  that  I  regret  the  less  the  absolute 
want  of  time  on  this  occasion,  to  point  them  out  and  dwell  on 
them.  As  between  any  two  nations  in  the  world,  which  are 
equal  in  other  things,  in  all  the  other  means  and  appliances  of 
civilization,  that  one  which  has  the  superior  unity  of  national 


19 

character  cannot  fail  far  to  outstrip  the  other  in  its  career  of  im- 
provement, of  happiness  and  true  gloiy. 

Antl  in  respect  to  this  national  unify  in  the  American  people, 
— at  least  looking  at  them  as  they  stood  when  first  the  Old  Thir- 
teen came  together' — I  know  of  nothing  to  compare  with  it  in 
any  considerable  nation  of  Europe.  Though  Castile  and  AiTa- 
pon  in  Spain  had  formed  one  people  politically  for  more  than 
four  hundred  years  before  this  Union  was  established,  yet  there 
is  not  that  unity  to-day  between  them  which  existed  between 
Massachusetts  and  Virginia  in  the  fii-st  month  or  year  of  their 
coming  together,  Normandy  and  liurgundy,  and  Brittany  in 
France  have  not  yet  united,  and  probably  never  can  unite  as 
kindly.  It  is  only  that  part  of  the  British  Isles  to  which  the 
term  England  is  properly  applied,  which  constitutes  a  nation  in 
true  unity  under  the  reign  of  the  British  Queen.  Wales  is 
Wales,  and  Scotland  is  Scotland  still.  Ireland  is  governed  more 
like  a  subjugated  province  than  an  integral  part  of  the  em- 
pire. 

And  there  is  another  important  particular  in  which  the  empire 
of  the  European  nations,  or  of  many  of  them,  fuils  of  that  unity 
which  the  American  nation  had  as  it  was  originally  formed  under 
the  Constitution.  Their  governments  are  not  merely  national ; 
they  are  imperial,  and  rule  over  provinces  and  detached  or  dis- 
tinct districts,  as  Rome  did,  till  her  provinces  turned  round  and 
tyrannized  over  her.  They  have  their  Colonies,  as  England  has 
in  the  most  distant  and  diverse  quarters  of  the  globe — a  source, 
no  doubt,  of  great  apparent  political  strength  and  consideration 
in  the  scale  and  family  of  nations,  but  a  source  also  of  great  moral 
weakness  at  home.  England,  the  home  country  and  nation, 
would  be  a  better  governed,  a  freer  and  happier,  and  a  more  civ- 
ilized country  to-day,  if  she  had  never  had  a  Colony  to  look  after 
and  govei'n.  Colonies  stand  to  the  country  that  owns  them  in 
the  relation  of  dependencies  ;  as  such,  they  are  held  and  govern- 
ed ;  they  arc  no  part  of  the  nation — though  they  form  a  part  of 
the  empire  of  the  governing  power ;  the  government  over  them 
is  one  essentially  offeree,  and  not  of  choice  or  consent  ;  and  the 
consequence  is  that  as  soon  as  they  are  ripe  enough,  as  Hume,  I 
think,  has  said,  they  drop  off  from  the  parent  stem — sometimes 
they  drop  off  before  they  are  ripe.     And  this  joining  of  far-off  Co- 


20 

lonial  or  Territorial  possessions,  or  of  incongi-uous  and  uncongenial 
districts  and  peoples,  to  a  parent  state  by  political  connection,  is 
a  gross  breach  of  the  essential  principle  of  national  unity ;  it  is 
tying  up  so  many  diseased  and  conupting  limbs,  or  so  many  dead 
corpses,  to  a  living  and  otherwise  healthy  body.  And  this  su- 
peradding of  the  imperial  power  to  the  national  authority  of  the 
government,  or  rather  this  superposition  of  the  imperial  upon 
the  national  power,  so  that  the  latter  is  often  materially  overlaid 
and  crushed  down  with  the  superincumbent  weight  of  the  other, 
bodes  no  good,  it  never  did  and  never  can  bode  any  good,  to  that 
portion  of  the  subjects  of  the  empire  which  properly  constitute 
the  nation.  AVheii  a  country  has  as  much  breadth  of  territoiy, 
and  embraces  as  much  variety  in  its  population,  as  can  be  formed 
into  one  nation,  consistently  with  the  due  preservation  of  the 
great  principle  of  national  unity,  then  there  is  enough  for  any 
one  government  to  do  to  take  care  of  the  public  interests  of  that 
nation.  And  whatsoever  more  it  has  to  do,  cometh  of  evil,  tends 
to  evil,  and  is  evil. 

In  regard  to  the  principle  of  representation  to  which  I  have 
referred  ;  I  must  now,  after  the  time  I  have  already  occupied, 
pass  this  topic  over,  with  only  some  veiy  general  remarks. 

The  true  idea  of  the  representative  principle  I  take  to  be  this  ; 
that  Government,  instead  of  ruling  by  an  absolute,  prescriptive 
or  personal  right,  rules  under  a  responsible  Trust,  and  exercises 
only  the  powers  committed  to  it.  Government  is  a  Trust,  to  be 
executed  according  to  the  intent  and  purpose  designed  to  be  an- 
swered by  it,  and  by  reference  to  the  will  of  those  who  have 
created  and  established  it.  Thus,  on  the  one  hand,  it  is  the  will 
of  God  that  government  should  exert  and  possess  all  necessary 
powers,  and  that  it  should  be  exercised  for  the  highest  common 
good  of  those  who  are  the  subjects  of  it.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
nation  itself  decides,  or  it  may  do  so,  on  the  form  of  government 
it  will  have,  the  kind  of  Constitution  it  prefers,  and  how  the 
functionaries  shall  be  chosen  or  designated,  and  under  what 
restriction,  or  distribution  and  limitation  of  powers  they  shall  act. 
In  this  way  it  is,  that  government  is  a  Trust,  and  is  representa- 
tive. And,  in  view  of  this  fiduciary  and  representative  character, 
it  should  seem  that  any  Government,  which  understands  the  high 
dignity  to  which  it  is  called,  and  the  responsibilities  it  assumeS', 


21 

will  quite  as  often,  and  as  anxiously,  look  up,  to  see  if  it  is  dis- 
charging its  great  olHce  acceptably  to  God,  as  it  will  look 
abroad  among  the  people  for  their  approval. 

It  may  often  happen,  even  when  the  Goverament  is  adminis- 
tered most  conscientiously  and  wisely,  that  it  may,  for  the  time, 
be  little  in  accord  with  the  prevailing  feelings  and  wishes  of  the 
people.  Of  course,  in  such  a  case,  they  will  condemn  the  admin- 
istration and  seek  to  bring  about  a  change.  This  they  may  do 
under  the  right  of  Election.  The  true  use  of  the  elective  system 
is  to  enable  the  people  to  get  rid  of  bad  men  and  a  bad  adminis- 
tration ;  but,  of  course,  it  is  just  as  potent  an  engine  when  they 
choose  to  employ  it  against  good  men,  and  a  good  administration. 
By  the  proper  use  of  this  power,  the  representative  principle 
may  be  preserved  and  maintained  ;  but  with  equal  facility  this 
very  power  may  be  employed  to  destroy  the  princi})le  of  repre- 
sentation, simply  by  converting  the  right  of  election  into  the  right 
of  administration  and  government.  Election  is  itself  a  Trust  of 
a  very  high  character.  The  Elector  does  not  exercise  his  fran- 
chise for  himself,  but  for  the  whole  body  politic.  Properly 
employed,  Election  would  place  the  administration  habitually  in 
the  hands  of  the  most  worthy — ruv  apiCrwv — it  would  make 
the  government  an  Aristocracy — not  in  the  sense  so  properly 
condemned  in  our  day — but  in  the  true,  original,  Greek  signifi- 
cation of  the  term — a  government  of  the  most  worthy — such  a 
goverament  as  the  country,  in  fact,  once  had,  if  never  but  once  ; 
I  mean  in  the  time  of  the  first  Congress  and  of  the  first  President 
of  the  United  States.  But  Election  may  also  be  used  to  place  the 
worst  men  in  power ;  to  create  either  a  Tyranny — the  worst, 
perhaps,  with  which  any  country  can  be  visited — the  Tyranny  of 
petty  Demagogues,  introduced  into  power,  and  supported  in  their 
pretensions  and  career,  by  an  inflamed  and  unreasoning  popu- 
lace ;  or,  a  worse  state  of  things  still,  a  rule  of  mingled  Anarchy 
and  malignity,  under  an  unrestrained  ochlocratic  domination. 

Let  me  be  allowed  to  say,  that  it  seems  to  me  the  exercise  of 
this  eminent  right  of  election  by  the  people,  may  well  be  regarded 
as  a  trial,  of  no  ordinary  severity,  to  which  they  arc  subjected. 
Certainly  it  may  be  made,  and  ought  to  be  made,  one  of  the 
highest  and  most  effective  means  that  could  possibly  be  employ- 
ed, for  their  discipline  and  cultivation,  and  for  thuir  advancement 


22 

in  intelligence  and  virtue.  By  the  use  of  this  power,  they  may 
heap  blessings  and  benefits  on  their  own  heads  ;  by  the  abuse  of 
it,  they  may  destroy  themselves.  It  is  a  means  of  high  political 
and  moral  discipline,  which  they  have  voluntarily  taken  into  their 
own  hands,  but  which  they  may  wrest  to  their  ruin  if  they  will. 
That  they  should  sometimes  be  misled,  and  go  wrong,  ought  not 
to  surpi'ise,  or  dishearten,  any  body.  They  have  the  free  use  of 
a  dangerous  instrument,  and  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  if,  now 
and  then,  they  inflict  a  wound  upon  themselves.  It  is  in  the  order 
of  Providence,  that  men  and  nations  should  sometimes  buy  their 
best  wisdom  at  the  price  of  a  very  dear  experience.  The  point 
for  them  to  consider  is,  whether  they  may  not,  under  the  lead  of 
bad  counsels,  and  of  miserable  passions,  carry  their  abuse  of  this 
power,  some  day,  so  far,  as  to  forfeit  its  use  altogether,  by  bring- 
ing in  scenes  of  terror  and  confusion  into  the  country,  in  which 
they  may  riot  for  a  season,  but  only  to  end  with  thi'owing  them- 
selves down  at  last,  to  be  crushed  under  an  advancing  Despotism 
— as  victims  were  used  to  precipitate  themselves  before  the  wheels 
of  Juggernaut.  The  point,  for  those  who  take  any  part  inform- 
ing the  character  and  leading  the  opinions  of  the  people,  to 
consider  is,  what  they  can  do  to  keep  the  people  true  to  them- 
selves, and  up  to  the  high  duties  and  responsibilities  of  their 
position.  One  thing  we  may  count  on  as  pretty  certain,  if  the 
Leaders,  Lawgivers  and  Instructors  of  the  people — if  Moses  and 
Joshua — be  not  faithful  to  their  trust,  the  people  will  not  be  likely 
to  get  further  in  their  way  towards  the  land  of  political  promise, 
even  after  having  once  got  quite  clear  of  the  wilderness,  than  to 
stand  on  the  eminence  that  overlooks  it. 

Looking  back  to  the  period  of  our  first  enti'ance  Tipon  our 
political  career  as  a  nation,  we  may,  I  think,  regai"d  the  fust 
administration  of  the  General  Government  under  Washinsfton — 
clarum  ct  venerahUc  nomcn — as  showing  by  a  practical  and  success- 
ful demonstration,  the  true  theory  and  meaning  of  our  political 
forms,  the  true  characteristics,  peculiarities  and  advantages  of 
our  American  system  of  political  government,  and  what  rank  it 
was  entitled  to  hold  in  the  woi'ld  as  a  form  of  Civilization.  The 
question  of  our  progress  is  another  matter.  Whether,  since  that 
I)eriod,  we  have  been  altogether  true  to  ourselves,  and  to  the 
responsibilities  of  the  eminent  position  we  then  occupied  ;  whcth- 


23 

er,  to-day,  wc  could  altogether  justify  ourselves  before  the  world 
for  the  eni})l()yincMt  and  use  we  have  made  of  our  political  and 
social  forms  ;  whether,  if  wc  were  put  to  it,  we  could  show  very 
satisfactorily,  that  we  have  made  that  advance  in  Civilization — 
in  whatsoever  adonis  and  exalts  human  nature,  and  enhances 
enjoyment  and  true  happiness — which  the  world  had  a  right  to 
expect  from  us,  or  even  that  we  have  faithfully  kept  that  which 
was  committed  to  us  ;  whether  we  are  a  wiser,  better  and  hap- 
pier people  now  than  we  were  fifty  years  ago  ;  whether  we  have 
been  doing  all  we  could,  and  are  doing  all  we  can,  to  preserve 
the  great  essential  princi])le  of  national  unity,  and  that  other 
great,  essential  principle,  of  representation  in  goverment ;  wheth- 
er we  have  been  strict  and  vigilant  to  keep  to  the  practice  of 
placing  the  power  of  Government  habitually  in  the  hands  of  the 
most  worthy,  and  to  preserve  the  country  from  the  insidious 
spirit  and  fatal  encroachments  of  ochlocratic  rule  ;  whether  we 
have  ke2)t  steadily  in  view,  as  Washington  declared  the  Conven- 
tion that  gave  us  our  Constitution  had  done,  "the  consolidation 
of  our  Union" — which  he  pronounced  "the  greatest  interest  of 
every  true  American ;"  whether  our  growth,  mighty  as  it  has 
been  and  is  likely  to  be,  is  altogether  our  strength  ;  whether  our 
moral  greatness  is  keeping  pace  with  the  expansion  of  our  phys- 
ical and  political  proportions ;  whether  we  have  been  always 
and  altogether  content  to  be  a  nation  without  any  aspirations  to 
become  an  empire  ;  whether  the  Central,  governing  Power  is, 
and  is  likely  to  be,  merely  national,  as  it  was  in  the  beginning, 
or  has  come,  or  is  coming,  from  choice  or  seeming  necessity,  to 
be  clothed  also  with  imperial  dominion  and  authority  ;  whether 
we  have  perfectly  understood  what  kind  of  progress  ought  to 
have  resulted  from  our  political  organization  and  social  system, 
and  been  content  to  make  that  progress  the  object  of  our  ambi- 
tion and  pursuit  ;  whether  we  have  perfectly  understood  what 
the  true  Mission  of  this  country  was,  and  is,  and  been  content  to 
fulfil  it ;  whether,  as  a  nation,  wc  have  always,  and  altogether, 
pursued  such  a  course  and  career — for  this  was  our  j)roper  mis- 
sion— as  ought  to  commend  our  system  and  our  example  to  the 
admiration  and  imitation  of  the  woi"ld  ;  in  short,  whether  we  are 
what  we  once  were,  and  ought  still  to  be,  a  nation  thoroughly 
grounded  in  all  good  and  honest  principles,  and  growing  in  the  gra- 


24 

cesof  all  public  and  private  virtues,  under  the  legitimate  influence 
and  operation  of  our  social  system  and  form  of  Civilization  ;  and 
whether  the  path  we  are  pursuing,  instead  of  leading  us  on 
through  gloom,  uncertainty,  confusion,  and  thick  darkness,  is 
I'eally  one  that  promises,  like  that  of  the  just,  to  shine  brighter 
and  brighter  to  a  perfect  day  ;  these,  these  all,  are  questions  into 
which  I  do  not  enter.  I  remit  them  wholly  to  the  consideration 
of  those  among  you  who  may  think  they  have  interest  or  impor- 
tance enough  to  engage  their  deliberations,  or  their  study. 

One  thing,  however,  I  will  say,  on  this  matter,  that  though,  as  a 
people,  we  may  have  committed,  and  are  likely  to  commit,  great 
mistakes  and  great  errors,  there  is  yet,  I  must  believe,  a  princi- 
ple of  soundness  at  the  heart  of  the  nation.  If  there  be  corrup- 
tion any  where,  the  young  men  of  the  nation,  whatever  maybe 
said  of  some  of  those  who  are  older  and  more  practiced  in  the 
world,  are  little  tainted  with  it.  The  danger  in  their  case  is,  that 
they  may  be  swept  forward  unconsciously,  and  unresistingly, 
without  reason,  without  examination,  without  reflection,  by  what 
is  called  the  spirit  or  movement  of  the  age  ;  just  as  it  might  be  if 
they  were  standing  with  multitudes  of  confident  and  eager  per- 
sons around  them  on  a  firm  bridge  of  ice  over  a  broad  stream, 
which,  however,  the  advancing  season  had  already  loosened  from 
the  shores,  and  which  was  now  humed  along  by  the  silent,  resist- 
less and  majestic  current  underneath — whither  they  would  know 
not — to  what  desired  haven  in  the  tide  of  fortune,  or  to  what  un- 
happy doom. 

But  I  turn  now  to  say  a  word  or  two  on  those  other  organiza- 
tions, or  Associations,  which  I  have  already  moi'e  than  once  refer- 
red to.  Along  with  the  State,  we  must  have  the  Family,  and  the 
Church. 

And  first,  in  regard  to  the  Family.  There  is,  perhaps,  no 
country  in  the  world,  thus  far,  where  the  sacredness  and  purity  of 
the  Family  relations  have  been  more  scrupulously  preserved, 
than  in  our  own.  Let  us  hope  that  we  are  not  soon  to  degene- 
rate from  this  high  position.  At  the  same  time,  it  is  not  to  be 
disguised,  that  there  are  theories  of  social  reform  industriously 
urged  on  the  humbler  classes  of  society,  and  with  no  inconsidera- 
ble effect,  which  are  designed,  or  at  least  calculated,  to  strike  a 
Iktal  blow  at  the  family  relations.     Under  the  plausible  promise 


25 

of  improving  the  condition  of  labor,  Associations  are  recommen- 
ded which  are  at  war  with  the  sacred  institution  of  the  family, 
and  indeed  with  the  whole  structure  of  society,  and  through 
which,  if  they  can  have  any  success,  a  mischief  will  be  done  too 
serious  and  awful  to  be  contemplated  without  horror. 

But  this  is  not  all.  If  the  Family  relations  are  to  be  maintain- 
ed at  all  in  their  purity,  and  so  as  to  secure  and  promote  social 
happiness,  they  must  be  maintained  on  the  basis  on  which  they 
were  originally  placed  by  their  Divine  Author.  The  first  great 
principle  to  be  preserved  is  the  essential  unity  of  the  two  persons 
who  compose  the  one  head  of  the  Family.  "They  twain  shall 
be  one  flesh."  The  union  is  a  mystic  one,  properly  existing  only 
under  the  most  solemn  religious  sanctions,  and  with  which  pro- 
fane hands  should  scarcely  intermeddle.  Happily  for  our  coun- 
try, as  well  as  for  that  from  which  we  have  chiefly  derived  our 
political  and  legal  institutions,  the  system  of  the  Common  Law, 
which  generally  prevails  with  us,  accords  mainly  with  the  reli- 
gious view  and  character  of  the  conjugal  relation,  and  of  its 
marital  rights.  Generally,  too,  it  may  be  said,  that  our  legisla- 
tion on  this  subject — at  least  until  within  a  recent  period — has 
not  widely  departed  from  the  notion  and  spirit  of  the  original  law 
of  this  relation.  Unhappily,  however,  as  it  seems  to  me,  a  dis- 
position has  prevailed  of  late  in  some  quarters  of  the  country,  to 
bring  this  sacred  relation  under  the  rules  of  the  Civil  Law — a 
system,  so  far  as  it  is  applied  to  the  domestic  relations,  as  much 
below  that  of  the  Common  Law,  as  the  Heathen  manners  and 
philosophy  in  which  it  originated  were  below  the  sublime  and 
elevated  doctrines  and  precepts  of  Christianity.  Just  in  propor- 
tion as  this  sacred  and  religious  relation  is  brought  down,  by  law, 
to  the  low  level  of  a  mere  civil  contract,  whether  by  slovenly  and 
unseemly  provisions,  made  for  the  solemnization  of  man4age,  or 
otherwise  ;  and  just  in  proportion  as  the  law  shall  interpose  to 
separate  the  temporal  estates  and  interests  of  the  parties,  to 
place  them  in  antagonist  attitudes  to  each  other,  to  afford  them 
facilities  for  causes  of  difference,  and  for  holding  each  other  to 
mutual  accountability  in  the  courts,  and,  above  all,  to  multiply 
grounds  of  separation  ;  just  in  proportion  as  these  things  are 
done,  will  the  religious  tie  and  sanction  which  give  this  relation 


26 

its  mystic  unity  be  weakened,  its  purity  be  degraded,  and  its  sa- 
credness  profaned. 

And  now  in  regard  to  the  Church,  as  one  of  the  three  Associ- 
ations of  pei-j5etual  necessity — this  being  the  most  sacred  of  all — 
which  lie  at  the  foundation  of  the  Social  System.  It  cannot  be 
necessary,  nor,  indeed,  would  it  at  all  become  me,  to  say  much 
on  this  subject,  in  the  presence  of  those  who  mainly  compose  this 
House  of  Convocation.  It  is  the  faith  of  this  College  that  the 
Church  has  been  constituted,  by  the  will  of  its  Divine  Founder 
and  Head,  in  a  particular  manner,  and  according  to  a  particular 
form  of  organization.  It  is  deemed  essential  that  this  organiza- 
tion should  be  presei-ved,  in  order  to  maintain  the  sacred  authority 
of  its  ministry,  and  the  proper  discipline  of  all  its  members,  and 
to  make  the  Church  the  Pillar  and  Ground  and  Witness  of  the 
Truth.  Those  who  associate  in  this  College  intend,  I  believe, 
to  maintain  this  doctrine  in  this  place,  as  every  whei'e  else,  leav- 
ing to  all  others,  of  course,  the  same  liberty  of  free  opinions 
which  they  claim  for  themselves,  but  humbly  hoping  to  set  an 
attractive,  and,  if  possible,  a  convincing  example  of  the  excel- 
lence and  efficiency  of  their  faith  before  all  the  world,  in  the 
eminent  practical  good  which  they  shall  finally  accomplish  here, 
through  their  strict  adherence  to  religious  principle,  and  to  the 
established  LaAv  of  order  and  Authority  in  the  Church  as  matter 
of  religious  principle,  in  all  their  plans  and  efforts  to  promote 
Education,  and  sound  Learnixig  and  Morality. 

Out  of  all  doubt,  the  moral  training  of  mankind — since  this 
cannot  be  separated  from  religion — is  committed  to  the  Church. 
The  law  of  Justice,  the  law  of  Kindness,  the  law  of  Charity,  the 
law  of  Brotherly  Love — these  are  never  taught  and  enforced 
effectually  on  men  any  where  but  in  the  Church.  True  Liberty, 
true  Equahty,  tme  Fraternity — these  are  taught  no  where  but  in 
the  Church.  Political  leaders  and  social  reformers,  who  never 
look  to  Christianity  and  the  Church  for  the  meaning  of  these 
terms  and  the  doctrines  properly  involved  in  them,  are  only  blind 
guides  to  lead  the  people  to  their  destruction.  It  is  in  the  Church 
that  the  tme  nature  of  the  Family,  and  of  the  domestic  relations, 
and  the  duties  involved  in  them,  are  taught  and  enforced,  and  no 
where  else.  And  here,  and  no  where  else,  are  taught  the  true 
character  of  poUtical  government,  its  divine .  authority  and  sane- 


27 

tions,  and  the  religious  duty  of  reverence  and  obedience  on  the 
part  of  all  its  subjects.  Here,  too,  and  no  where  else,  may  be 
learned  the  true  nature  of  the  relations  which  men  sustain  to- 
wards each  other  in  the  varied  business  and  multiplied  opera- 
tions and  affairs  of  active  life,  and  the  duties  and  demeanor  proper 
to  every  station  and  degree  of  human  existence.  And  here,  and 
here  only — in  the  principles  and  doctrines  of  Christianity,  main- 
tained and  enforced  in  the  Church,  sternly  inculcating  the  Faith 
once  for  all  delivered  to  it — will  be  found,  according  to  my  hum- 
ble but  undoubting  convictions,  the  true  method  of  solving  all 
those  appalling  difficulties  which  now  so  disturb  and  distract 
communities  and  nations  u!ider  the  agitations  set  on  foot  by  igno- 
rant or  unprincipled  men,  growing  out  of  the  relations  between 
Property  and  Labor,  and  between  the  Rich  and  the  Poor. 

When  every  man  shall  be  of  the  exact  stature  of  every  other 
man,  and  every  soul  the  exact  pattern  of  every  other  soul ;  when 
infants  shall  no  longer  be  born  into  the  world,  but  full  grown 
men  and  women  ;  when  time  and  chniico  sli;i]l  happen  in  exactly 
the  same  measure,  to  all ;  when  none  shall  be  younger  or  older, 
feebler  or  stronger,  simpler  or  wiser,  than  any  and  every  body 
else  ;  then  I  suppose  we  may  expect  to  see  that  precise  equality 
of  condition — that  mathematical  dead  level  in  society — which 
some  modern  philosophers  seem  to  dream  of  as  a  state  of  human 
perfection  and  fehcity.  So  long,  however,  as  men  shall  continue 
to  be  born,  and  live,  and  die,  after  the  present  fashion — so  long 
as  the  Sei-mon  on  the  Mount  does  not  become  obsolete,  and 
wholly  inapplicable,  in  every  lesson  and  precept,  to  men  in  the 
social  state — I  suppose  we  must  expect  to  see  great  diversities, 
oftentimes  painful  ones,  in  their  condition  and  stations  in  society  ; 
we  shall  still  have  men  of  property  and  men  of  toil,  masters  and 
servants,  employers  and  employed,  rich  and  poor.  And  so  long 
as  this  shall  be  the  state  of  human  society,  I  believe  it  will  be 
found,  after  all  struggles  to  escape  from  it  are  over,  that  there  is 
only  one  effectual  method  of  I  ■  ringing  about  a  real  and  lasting 
improvement  in  the  social  condition  of  men,  and  that  is  bybring- 
ino-  them  tosrether  in  one  Brotherhood  of  Love  in  the  bosom  of 
the  Church,  where  all  alike,  of  every  grade  and  condition,  shall 
become  the  teachable  and  willing  subjects  of  its  doctrines  and  its 
discipline.     The  poor  will  never  be  provided  for  as  they  ought 


28 

to  be,  or  cared  for  as  they  ought  to  be,  till  the  time  shall 
come,  as  come  it  will,  one  day,  when  in  every  parish  they 
shall  be  the  voluntary  charge  of  the  local  Christian  fellow- 
ship of  which  they  fonn  a  part.  The  great  economical  and 
social  questions  between  Capital  and  Labor,  which  are  now 
fast  separating  into  hostile  classes  those  who  ought  to  be 
friends,  as  being  mutually  dependent  on  each  other,  though  in 
different  degrees,  and  between  whom  unwise  men  and  bad  men, 
are  every  where  busy  sowing  dissension  and  bitter  enmity,  will 
never  be  satisfactorily  adjusted  and  settled  until  the  parties  shall 
be  bi'ought  together  in  a  school  and  fellowship  which  shall  make 
them  the  brethren  of  one  sacred  Household,  and  where  they  shall 
be  mutually  as  willing  and  anxious  to  understand  and  practice 
their  reciprocal  duties  towards  each  other,  as  they  are  now  to 
understand  and  insist  on  their  respective  rights.  When  they  shall 
come  to  meet,  as  brothers,  around  a  common  altar  of  worship,  in 
the  communion  of  the  Catholic  Church,  then,  and  not  sooner,  will 
they  learn  to  do  that  willing  justice  to  each  othei',  without  strife 
or  envyings,  which  no  laws,  and  no  social  organizations,  under 
mere  civil  authoi'ity,  can  ever  teach,  secure  or  enforce.  I  am 
not  preaching  a  seniion — that  is  not  my  calling  ;  but  I  am  endea- 
voring to  state  and  insist  on  an  economical  tiiith.  I  am  looking 
after  the  meaTis  of  improving  the  social  condition  of  mankind,  and 
I  happen  to  find  them  just  where  the  Church  finds  and  offers  the 
means  of  their  salvation.* 


*After  these  remarks  were  prepared,  the  writer  saw  a  notice  of 
the  death  of  the  celebrated  Chateaubriand,  the  author  of  the  "Genius  of 
Christianity."  Dying  as  he  did  at  Paris,  in  the  very  midst  of  those  awful 
convulsions  through  which  Society  was  then  passing  in  that  unhappy 
country,  the  testimony  which  that  remarkable  man  left  behind  him  is  very 
striking  and  instructive,  and  deserves  to  be  preserved  and  pondered.  I 
quote  from  the  notice  referred  to  : 

"A  few  minutes  before  his  death  M  de  Chateaubriand,  who  had  receiv- 
ed the  sacrament  on  Sunday,  embraced  once  more  the  cross  with  the 
emotion  of  a  lively  faith  and  firm  confidence.  One  of  the  expressions 
•which  he  repeated  most  frequently  of  late  years  was,  that  the  social  ques- 
tions which  agitated  nations  at  present  could  not  be  solved  without  the  Bible, 
without  the  soul  of  Christ,  whose  doctrines  and  example  have  denounced 
selfishness,  this  gnawinrj  worm  of  all  concord.  Thus  M.  de  Chateaubriand 
hailed  Christ  as  the  Saviour  of  the  world,  even  in  a  social  point  of  view, 
juad  he  loved  to  call  him  his  King  as  well  as  his  God." 


29 

The  question,  after  all,  is,  in  what  is  our  hope  ?  How  shall 
the  advantages  of  our  social  position  be  best  secured,  the  hazards 
to  which  we  are  exposed  avoided,  and  our  progress  in  true  feli- 
city advanced  ?  Others  may  rest  their  hopes  in  other  things — in 
a  thousand  new  devices  which  ingenious  men  are  always  ready  to 
invent  for  the  sovereign  cure  of  all  political  and  social  ills.  For 
myself  I  choose  to  trust  first  of  all  to  those  Appointments  and 
Associations  which  were  ordained  of  old,  by  a  better  wisdom 
than  that  of  men  ;  and  then  to  Agencies  subordinate  and  auxilia- 
ry to  them.  Society  must  rest  on  the  Family,  on  the  State,  and 
on  the  Church,  as  organizations  of  divine  ordination.  The  Fam- 
ily must  be  held  sacred  ;  Government  must  be  respected  and 
obeyed,  and  the  Church  loved  and  venerated  as  a  heaven-bom 
mother.  Education  is  the  great  auxiliary  agency  to  be  relied  on, 
]>ut  our  Educational  plans  must  stand  on  the  right  foundation,  or 
incalculable  mischief  instead  of  good,  may  be  done.  What  that 
right  foundation  is  men  will  differ  about.  What  it  is  in  the  esti- 
mation of  those  who  compose  this  Academical  Society  is  suffi- 
ciently shown  in  the  manner  in  which  this  Institution  has  been 
orjjanized. 


"O" 


Dis  te  minorem  quod  geris,  imperas ; 
Hinc  omne  principium,  hue  refer  exitum. 

HoR.  Carm.  VI.  Ad.  Rom. 

Let  the  plan  adopted  here  be  carried  out,  and  this  example 
be  followed  elsewhere  as  it  ought  to  be,  and  Education  will 
stand  on  higher  ground  in  this  countiy  than  it  has  ever  stood  on 
before.  Society  is  swayed  and  governed  by  opinion.  We  say, 
let  the  College  stand,  every  where,  by  the  side  of  the  Church,  in 
its  efforts  to  keep  the  moral  sentiment  of  the  country  sound  and 
steady,  and  we  need  not  concern  ourselves  much  about  the  rest. 
Political  and  social  tranquility  and  felicity  will  be  easily  secured, 
when  Faith,  Truth  and  Principle  shall  have  that  sway  over  the 
minds  of  men  which  they  ought  to  have — and  which  they  must 
have  before  their  social  condition  will  be  essentially  improved. 

Hoc  opus,  hoc  studlum  parvi  properemus  et  aiupli, 
Si  patriae  volumus,  si  nobis  vivere  cari. 

HoR.  ErisT.  III.  Ai>  Jdl.  Flor. 


^\]t  ^vnc  £it"c 


A  POEM 


DELIVERED    IJEEOKE    THE 


HOUSE    OF    CONVOCATION 


OF 


TRINITY    COLLEGE 


IN 


ClIKIST    CUUIICII,    HARTFOKD,    AUGUST    1,    1S49. 


BY  THE 

REV.    RALPH    IIOYT,   A.    M. 

RECTOR  OF  THE  CHURCH  OF  THE  GOOD  SHEPHERD,  NEW  YORK. 


PUBLISHED  BY  THE   HOUSE  OF  C  ON^OCATIOX. 


HARTFORD: 

CALENDAR    OFFICE — S.   nAX.MEU,   JR.,   PRINTER. 

1849. 


1 


I 


THE    TRUE    LIFE 


A    MEDITATION. 


I. 


Serenest  spirit  of  the  hallowed  lyre, 

Sweet  soother  of  all  sorrow,  come  to  me  ! 
My  laboring  thought  with  utterance  inspire  ; 

Thou  muse  divine,  th}^  heavenly  minstrelsie 
I  would  evoke  from  every  truthful  string, 
And  here  a  Lay  of  Life  essay  to  sing. 

For  I  must  vigil  while  all  nature  sleeps  ; 
Not  self-devoted,  but  ordained  to  be 

A  poor  v^-^ayfarer  o'er  life's  rugged  steeps  ; 
Its  sternest  aspects  fated  still  to  see  ; 

To  taste  its  bitter  draughts  at  many  a  brim  ; 
And  chant,  withal,  earth's  earnest,  awful  Hymn  ! 


II. 


Thou  that  hast  tuned  my  reed,  if  tuned  it  be  ; 

If  this  high  prayer  to  such  low  dust  belong ; 
Ineffable  Inspirer  !  speak  to  me 

That  I  sing  not  an  inharmonious  song. 
Speak,  to  me  trembling  in  thy  glory's  blaze, 
That  singing  Life,  I  also  sing  thy  praise. 

The  earth-strung  harp  but  teaches  man  to  weep  ; 
Furrows  his  aching  brow  before  its  time  ; 

O,  give  me  now  the  lyre  that  I  shall  sweep 
Upon  the  hills  of  j'on  celestial  clime  ; 

God  !  make  my  spirit  like  a  surging  sea. 
Rolling  its  thundering  anthems  up  to  thee  ! 


III. 


Such  scope  I  covet,  fitly  to  adore  ; 

Such  scope,  the  import  of  my  theme  to  scan  ; 
Ocean  of  Life  !  no  swimmer  finds  a  shore  ; 

Unfathomable  mystery  of  man  ! 
So  vast,  so  various,  whence,  or  whither,  all 
Shrouded  in  secrecy  as  with  a  pall. 

Dread  dissonance  of  earth  !  each  life  a  note 
Swelling  the  mighty  uproar  tompcst-high  ; 

Harmonious  voices  few,  and  too  remote 
To  temper  the  wild  clamor  of  the  sky  : 
O  for  a  plunge  that  ocean  to  explore  ; 
O  for  a  wing  that  chaos  to  outsoar  ! 


5 


\y 


Give  me  to  love  my  fellow  ;  and  in  love, 

If  with  none  other  grace  to  chant  my  strain  ; 
Sweet  key-note  of  soft  cadences  above, 

Sole  star  of  solace  in  life's  night  of  pain  ; 
Chief  gem  of  Eden,  fractured  in  that  Fall 
Tliat  ruined  two  fond  hearts,  and  tarnished  all  ! 

Redeemer  !  be  thy  kindly  spirit  mine  ; 
That  pearl  of  paradise  to  me  restore  ; 

Pure,  fervent,  fearless,  lasting  love  ;  divine, 
Profound  as  ocean,  broad  as  sea  and  shore  ; 

While  man  I  sing,  free,  subject,  or  supreme, 
O  for  a  soul  as  ample  as  the  theme  ! 


1  see  the  awful  vision  of  all  time  ; 

All  life  since  man  became  a  living  soul  ; 
All  change  since  woman  taught  him  love  ;  and  crime 

And  death's  dark  wave  began  o'er  earth  to  roll  ; 
Stupendous  pomp  ;  far-reaching  to  that  night 
Ere  stars  were  kindled,  or  the  sun  gave  light. 

Swayed  as  eternal  symphonies  impel. 
Chord  answering  chord,  mysterious  harps  I  hear. 

And  myriad  voices  still  the  anthem  swell. 
Pouring  grand  harmonics  from  sphere  to  sphere  ; 
Chanting  historic  the  great  psalm  of  Eartli 
Since  chaos  labored  with  its  mighty  birlli. 


VI. 


Dread  shape  !  in  terror  while  constrained  I  gaze 

The  shadows  of  old  ages  roll  away  ; 
The  Past  is  present,  and  the  first  of  days 

Pours  brightly  down  its  new-created  ray  ; 
Dim,  mystic  visions  aggregate  apace, 
And  primal  earth  stands  out  august  in  space  ! 

How  wonderful ;  Jehovah  deigned  to  will 
And  this  creation  with  obedient  awe 

Came  booming  forth  the  mandate  to  fulfil, 
From  darkness,  glory  ;  from  disorder,  law  ! 
So  pure,  so  beautiful,  so  formed  for  love, 
It  might  allure  the  angels  from  above. 

VII. 

Man,  the  Epitome  !  still  chiefly  he 

The  mighty  argument  of  that  high  song  : 
Of  His  omnipotence  who  bade  him  be, 

Sublimcst  miracle  of  all  the  throng 
That  at  his  mandate  from  the  nought  of  space 
Came  forth  substantial  majesty  and  grace. 

Materiality,  and  essence,  each 
Its  full  perfection  in  his  form  to  find  ; 

The  universe  articulate  in  his  speech, 
All  spirit-greatness  imaged  in  his  mind. 
Harp  on  forever,  all  ye  bards  above, 
Man  still  your  theme  ;  and  man-creating  Love  ! 


VIII. 

There  swoops,  again,  in  solitude  sublime, 

The  shattered  remnant  of  that  elder  world  ; 
Like  some  primeval  orb  unknown  to  time, 

Througli  a  wild  waste  of  waters  helmless  hurled  ; 
On,  on,  careering  o'er  the  vengeful  wave  ; 
A.  rebel  skeleton,  denied  a  grave. 

Dark,  silent,  desolate,  an  outcast  globe. 
Blasted  beneath  the  sin-abhorring  frown  ; 

Shorn  of  the  sunbeam,  and  the  verdant  robe  ; 
In  an  unbounded  Delude  thus  to  drown  ! 
Imponderable  Ruin  !  can  it  be 
The  morning  stars  sang  sweetly  once  for  thee  ! 


IX. 


Ah,  must  you  mourn,  ye  minstrels  of  the  skv  ; 

Through  all  your  strains  still  sweeps  a  note  of  wo, 
As  myriad  hearts  were  breaking  in  one  sigh  ; 

Now  in  profoundest  octaves  moaning  low  ; 
Up  the  careering  scale  now.  frantic  flies, 
Shrieks  its  sad  tale  in  heaven,  and  wailing  dies. 

Me  now  instruct ;  that  justly  I  discourse 
Those  joys  and  sorrows,  your  immortal  themes  ; 

Reveal  of  each  the  annals,  and  the  source  ; 
And  as  I  listening  muse  along  the  streams. 

And  o'er  the  mountains,  all  my  thoughts  inspire, 
"11  your  high  burden  thrill  my  lowly  lyre. 


8 


'Tis  evening  now,  and  all  the  stars  again 

Like  pensive  mourners,  look  lamenting  down  ; 
A  sister  orb  wo-smitten  !  and  a  stain, 

How  deep  and  lasting,  on  its  old  renown. 
What  envious  hand  so  impiously  could  dare, 
To  mar  so  mournfully,  a  world  so  fair. 

Would  I  might  speak  to  them  ;  my  soul  would  know 
From  those  high  witnesses,  so  pure  and  true, 

Whence  came,  and  why,  the  desolating  blow 
Could  leave  such  deserts  where  such  edens  grew  ; 
Could  doom  to  perish  an  immortal  race, 
And  earth  itself,  to  fail  and  have  no  place. 


XL 


O  dream  of  Life  !  yet  good  to  ponder  o'er 

The  strange  vicissitudes  of  this  low  sphere  ; 
To  mark  how  swiftly  from  its  rock-bound  shore 

The  voyagers  set  sail  and  disappear  ; 
How  phantom-like  the  generations  pass  ; 
Confessing,  as  they  fly,  all  flesh  is  grass ! 

How  humbled  haughtiness  ;  how  calmed  all  rage  ; 
In  vain  the  lance  and  shield  and  brazen  mail ; 

Conquered  and  conquerors  from  age  to  age, 
Down  the  same  current  gloomily  all  sail, 
The  same  irrevocable  doom  to  read, 
With  Goth,  and  Roman,  Hebrew,  Greek,  and  Made. 


XII. 


Old  Nineveh,  of  great  Aturian  Phul ; 

Ecbat'na,  Babylon,  and  Tyre  remote  ; 
Menuf,  and  Meroe,  that  in  the  dull, 

Far-distant  verge  of  mythic  ages  float, 
Still  gliding  down  upon  the  fated  way, 
And  mote  by  mote,  still  crumbling  in  decay. 

Great  shrines  of  Phtha  ;  and  hundred-gated  walls  ; 
The  pillared  temples  where  old  bactrians  knelt ; 

The  chiselled  marble  of  imperial  halls. 
Where  Pharoes,  Ptolemies,  and  Ca?sars  dwelt ; 
Strong  fanes  of  luve,  piled  to  meet  the  sky, 
All,  in  the  wreck  of  empires,  long  gone  by. 

xm. 

Speak,  stars,  ye  nightly  mourners,  and  no  more 

In  mute  amazement  wait  the  coming  hour 
That  shall  earth's  wasted  excellence  restore, 

And  give  man  back  his  innocence  and  power. 
Too  long  3^our  silent  sorrow  ;  sootheless  grief 
May  quench  your  glory,  yet  bring  no  relief. 

Known  your  sad  secret  ;  mark  the  fearful  word 
Rebellion,  traccil  on  every  human  brow  ; 

And  oft  in  scathing  tempests  hath  been  heard 

The  tale  that  moves  your  deep  compassion  now. 

Yet,  to  our  call  ye  weeping  worlds  reply  ; 

Man  and  his  Home  in  ruin  !     Tell  us  why  ! 

2 


10 
XIV. 

Great  volume  of  the  Word,  behold,  in  thee 

The  dark  enigma  is  resolv^ed  and  clear  ; 
But  lo,  the  eye  of  nature  cannot  see, 

And  ah,  the  ear,  too  heavy,  cannot  hear. 
His  paradise  how  long  with  wo  o'erspread. 
And  the  immortal  dweller,  outcast,  dead  ! 

Dead  ;  yet  infatuated  not  to  know 
Essential  vigor,  beauty,  truth,  and  love 

Fled  when  he  dealt  the  self-destroying  blow. 
And  lost  the  life  that  cometh  from  above. 

O  Word  almighty,  the  dread  bondage  break  ; 
Awake  the  sleeper  ;  bid  the  dead  awake  ! 

XV. 

Companion  mine,  along  this  devious  page, 

Let  me  a  tale  discourse  to  thee  awhile, 
May  haply  much  thy  curious  ear  engage. 

And  this  brief  hour  right  worthily  beguile  ; 
Yet,  as  the  chronicle  unfolds  to  view, 
Though  fancy's  record,  deem  the  burden  true. 

In  sooth,  my  soul  is  fain  to  seek  repose, 
And  would  to  thee  its  lore  of  years  impart ; 

The  meditative  gatherings  disclose 
That  miser  memory  garners  in  the  heart ; 

A  tale  of  death,  pride,  passion,  riches,  fame; 
And  virtue  tried  in  love's  intensest  flame. 


11 


XVI. 


In  a  sweet  vale,  amid  a  desert  waste, 

There  dwelt  a  maiden  radiant  as  light ; 
As  a  pure  angel  delicate  and  chaste  ; 

No  lovelier  form  e'er  greeted  mortal  sight ; 
Nor  lived  she  but  to  bless,  and  wide  to  show 
The  living  joys  that  trntli  and  lovo  bestow. 

At  every  fount  of  knowledge  drank  she  deep  ; 
Not  erudition's  sages  so  profound  ; 

Of  things  divine  could  scale  the  cloudy  steep, 
And  all  the  depths  of  faith  and  reason  sound. 
Yet  ever  meek,  no  one  desire  she  knew, 
Save  still  to  be  all  heavenly  and  true. 

XVII. 

Such  peerless  charms  and  all-surpassing  grace 

That  humble  vale  might  not  unknown  retain  ; 
A  world  were  blest  to  look  upon  that  face, 

And  conLemplate  a  heart  that  knew  no  stain. 
From  hill  to  hill  wide  flew  the  wondrous  tale, 
So  bright  a  gem  in  such  a  lowly  vale. 

Came  one  and  knelt  adoring  at  her  shrine  ; 
And  sooth,  a  great  and  seemly  suitor  he  ; 

Could  she  his  prayer  and  proffered  hand  decline  ? 
Ah,  who  can  know  a  maiden's  mind,  perdie  ! 
Not  all  unmoved  his  suppliance  she  heard, 
Yet  gave  no  hope,  save  only  hope  deferred. 


12 


XVIII. 


Ah,  gentle  fair,  why  thus  my  suit  disdain, 

Cried  he  reproachful,  with  offended  pride  ; 
A.  nohler  name  in  story  must  I  gain ; 

What  task  performed  shall  win  thee  for  ray  bride  ? 
Though  years  attest  my  studious  toil  for  thee. 
Yet  sav  what  more  to  do  :  what  more  to  be. 

Then  she,  all-pitying,  raised  a  tearful  eye, 
And  owned  the  fond  emotion  of  her  breast ; 

But,  thoughtful,  drew  a  deep,  deploring  sigh. 
And  a  strange,  startling  answer  thus  expressed  ; 

O  noble  youth,  though  earth's  best  gifts  are  shed 
Around  and  on  thee,  thou,  alas,  art  dead  ! 

XIX. 

Life's  germ  from  heaven,  though  on  earth  the  bloom  ; 

And  seems  the  flower  with  full  perfection  blest  ; 
But  ah,  there's  poison  in  its  sweet  perfume. 

And  spots  appear  within  its  snowy  breast. 
How  could  I  weep  in  sootheless,  ceaseless  grief, 
That  life  so  soon  is  sere  and  yellow-leaf. 

Perfidious  heart ;  so  subtle,  so  debased, 
But  for  the  bitterness  in  it  that  springs, 

The  tearful  history  were  soon  erased. 
And  eardi-born  man  would  soar  on  seraph  wings. 
Thy  nature  needs  the  re-creating  sway. 
Of  Him  who  is  the  Life,  the  Truth,  the  Way. 


13 


XX. 


As  starts  a  dreamer  when  some  hideous  shape 

The  slumberino:  sense  with  sudden  terror  thrills  ; 
So  he,  with  shuddering  soul,  would  fain  escape 

Back  to  the  refuGje  of  his  native  hills. 
But  still  transfixed  he  stood  in  mute  dismay, 
Till  all  like  some  dread  vision  passed  away. 

Again  ere  long  to  conscious  thought  returned. 
He  sighed  the  import  of  her  words  to  know  ; 

Dead  ?  while  his  bosom  with  such  ardor  burned  ; 
Love,  reason,  and  ambition  all  a-glow  ; 

Yet  oh,  that  word,  with  such  dread  meaning  fraught, 
And  that  sweet  spirit ;  could  they  be  for  nought  ? 

XXI. 

Stern  lesson  ;  yet  much  profit  to  the  soul ; 

Good  to  be  taught  the  worthlessness  of  pride  ; 
To  free  the  spirit  from  earth's  strong  control ; 

And  on  the  sea  of  sorrow  heavenward  glide. 
Humilit}'- ;  the  burthened  heart's  release  ; 
Who  enters  that  low  portal  findeth  peace. 

Not  fair  Avoca's  deep  sequestered  dell, 
Such  sweet  serenity  and  rest  bestows  ; 

Nor  winding  Arno's  bowery  banks  can  tell 

The  weary  traveller  of  such  repose 

As  soothes  the  soul  when  humbly  it  adores  ; 
And  from  above  the  promised  blessing  pours. 


14 
XXII. 

The  maiden's  bower  again  he  trembhng  sought, 

And  prayed  a  lover's  pure,  impassioned  prayer  ; 
O  nii^hl  he  at  her  feet  the  truth  be  taudit  ; 

Or  would  she  but  vouchsafe  to  tell  him  where. 
Where  might  he  terminate  the  doubtful  strife, 
And  find,  if  he  were  dead,  the  soul's  True  Life. 

O  sweet  to  see  how  she  inclined  her  ear  ; 
How  soon  disclosed  the  true  and  living  way ; 

And  ah,  how  brake  his  heart  the  brimming  tear, 
That  bade  him  never  from  her  love  to  stray, 

As  forth,  elate,  with  hastening  step  she  trode. 
And  showed  a  temple, — Truth's  august  abode. 

XXIIL 

Now  onward  thou,  she  cried  ;  the  mountain  climb, 

And  press  for  yonder  porch  with  stedfast  heart ; 
There  enter,  and  the  wisdom  of  old-time 

Its  prophet-voices  shall  to  thee  impart  ; 
Obey,  and  lo,  thoushalt  to  life  arise, 
And  this,  my  long-sought  hand,  shall  be  thy  prize. 

Then  thitherward  a  hopeful  look  he  cast. 
Bending  his  step  within  a  narrow  way  ; 

And  on  his  joyous  pilgrimage  he  passed. 
Still  wending  onward  all  the  weary  day, 
Till  at  the  portal  pausing,  lowly  there 
He  knelt  and  breathed  a  penitential  prayer. 


1.5 
XXIV. 

Deluding  world  !  yet  how  the  moments  roll, 

That  still  unfold  its  fanciful  disguise, 
And  show  the  sterile  winter  of  the  soul ; 

Blight  on  its  blossoms,  gloom  upon  its  skies  ; 
Its  buds  of  innocence  unblown  depart, 
Strewing  their  leaves  all  withered  on  the  heart. 

Nor  Flora's  beauty,  nor  her  sweet  perfume 
O'er  hills,  and  vales,  and  woodlands,  can  restore 

The  fallen  tree  of  life  its  eden  bloom  ; 
It  cannot  see  the  sun  it  saw  before  ; 

It  cannot  its  decaying  stem  renew  ; 

Dead ;  in  the  wintry  garden  where  it  grew. 

XXV. 

O  Fount  of  Life  !  in  thy  blest  courts  how  free 

The  sacramental  stream  all-cleansing  flows, 

When  the  benighted  wanderer  bends  the  knee, 
And  o'er  his  head  the  mystic  waters  close  : 

Baptismal  Jordan  !  and  the  Spirit-Dove  ! 

Life,  reconciliation,  peace  and  love  ! 

So  knew  the  pilgrim  as  the  Ghostly  shower 

From  holy  hands  descended  on  his  head  ; 

Regenerated  !     By  redeeming  power 

Awaked  from  sleep  ;  arisen  from  the  dead  ! 

How  flashed  the  light !  what  rapture  filled  the  youth; 

There,  and  forever  his,  were  Life  and  Truth  ! 


3.cai)£mic    S  tubus. 


AN 


INAUGURAL    DISCOURSE, 


PRONOUNCED  BEFORE  THE  SENATE 

OF 

^liniti]  CoUccje,  jl^^i^^tfo^^^ 

ON  COMMENCEMENT  DAY, 

MDCCCXLIX. 


BY   THE 

REV.  JOHN  WILLIAMS,  D.  D., 

PBESIDENT  OF  THE  COLLEGE. 


PUBLISHED  BY  ORDER  OF  THE  CORPORATION. 


HARTFORD: 

CALENDAR    OlFlCE— S.    UANMEU,    JK,,    TRINTEK. 

1849. 


TO 


THE    SENATE, 


AND 


UNDERGRADUATE     MEMBERS, 


OF 


TRINITY   COLLEGE, 


THIS    DISCOURSE 


IS   INSCRIBED. 


INAUGURAL   DISCOURSE. 


Mr.  Chancellor, 

AND  Gentlemen  of  the  Corporation, 
OF  THE  Board  of  Fellows, 
AND  OF  Convocation  ; 

It  has  become  my  office  on  tliis,  the  first  of  our 
Collegiate  Festivals,  which  has  occurred  since  the 
assumption  of  the  duties  to  which  I  now  stand 
pledged,  to  offer  to  you  some  thoughts  and  observa- 
tions, which  shall  be  connected  with  one  or  another 
of  those  important  subjects  which  on  such  an  oc- 
casion come  naturally  under  review.  For  though  I 
do  not  know  that  our  own  precedents,  absolutely 
demand  this  at  my  hands,  yet  custom  long  sanc- 
tioned elsewhere,  does ;  and  the  dictates  of  pro- 
priety are  obviously  in  agreement  with  it.  My  ob- 
ject must  be,  to  avoid  on  the  one  hand,  all  con- 
siderations of  a  nature  so  merely  general,  as  that 
their  direct  and  practical  bearing  could  not  well  be 


6 

discerned :  and  on  the  other,  to  escape  the  tempta- 
tion of  entering  into  such  minuteness  of  detail,  as 
woukl  perplex  the  mind,  and  prevent  it  from  taking 
a  wider  range  and  gra])pling  with  great  principles. 
And  this  so  desirable  result,  I  have  hoped  might  be 
attained,  by  calling  your  attention  to  what  in  regard 
to  Human  Learning,  our  own  College  actually  pro- 
poses to  accomplish  ;  by  considering  the  various 
great  divisions  and  departments  of  study,  with  which 
she  concerns  herself  ;  by  observing  the  reasons  for 
their  adoption,  the  ends  which  they  are  intended 
to  subserve,  and  the  spirit  in  which  they  should  be 
conducted.  The  plan  is  indeed  a  simple  one,  per- 
haps almost  too  much  so ;  and  yet  I  see  no  other 
way  in  which  I  can  bring  before  you  the  views  and 
principles  which  it  seems  needful  to  set  forth . 

Adopting,  then,  the  language*  of  one  of  the  lights 
of  a  foreign  University,  which  fortunately  with  hardly 
a  change,  we  can  adopt,  though  speaking  from  a  far 
humbler  position,  I  would  say  in  the  beginning,  that 
"  The  studies  of  this  place,  so  far  as  they  relate  to 
merely  human  learning,"  and  so  far  only  at  present 
we  propose  to  speak  of  them,  "  divide  themselves 
into  three  branehes. 

I.  The  study  of  the  laws  of  nature,  comprehend- 
ing all  parts  of  inductive  philosophy. 

II.  The  study  of  ancient  and  modern  languages, 
and  literature  ;  or  in  other  words,  of  those  authentic 
records  which  convey  to  us  an  account  of  the  feel- 
ngs,  the   sentiments  and  the  actions,  of  men  prom- 


*Professor  Sedgwick,  in  his  "Discourse  on  the  studies  of  the  Univer- 
sity." I  have  slightly  changed  some  portions  of  the  ijuotation.  Its  spir- 
it, however,  remains  untouched. 


inent  in  the  most  famous  empires  of  the  ancient  and 
the  modern  workl.  In  these  works  we  seek  for  ex- 
amples and  maxims  of  prudence,  and  models  of 
taste. 

III.  The  study  of  ourselves  considered  as  social 
and  intellectual  bein<^s.  Under  this  head,  are  in- 
cluded ethics,  and  metaphysics,  political  philosophy, 
history,  and  some  other  kindred  subjects  of  great 
complexity,  which  can  be  only  briefly  touched  in 
our  academic  system,  and  are  to  be  followed  out  in 
the  more  mature  labors  of  after  life." 

This  ancient  and  venerable  system  of  instruction, 
comes  into  our  hands  from  other  times  and  from  far 
distant  generations,  bringing  with  it  the  sanctions 
of  old  experience,  and  laden  with  accumulated  hon- 
ors. No  one  would  venture  so  much  as  to  assert, 
that  it  could  never  admit  changes  or  modifications, 
or  that  the  proportions  of  its  combined  elements 
must  continue  without  alteration.  To  say  this, 
would  be  to  forget,  What  ought  never  to  be  forgot- 
ten, that  the  character  of  a  scholar's  preparations, 
the  plan  of  that  instruction  by  which  his  mind  is  to 
be  formed  and  moulded,  must  receive  modifications, 
and  must  admit  changes,  accordant  with  and  regu- 
lated by  the  necessities  of  the  period  in  which  he 
lives,  and  the  intellectual  requirements  of  those, 
amongst  whom  his  lot  is  cast.  But  while  this 
is  fully  and  freely  granted,  still  the  great  fact  re- 
mains, that  the  elements  of  all  true  instruction,  con- 
tinue in  all  time  the  same  ;  their  combinations  may 
change,  their  proportions  may  vary,  but  they  them- 
selves do  not.     Such  is  tin;  law  of  the  human  mind, 


8 

such  is  the  rule  of  human  knowledge.  There  are 
here,  as  every  where,  ultimate  elements  beyond 
which  we  cannot  go,  and  from  which  we  cannot  rid 
ourselves.  And  the  scheme  of  instruction  which 
should  endeavor  to  omit  them,  w  ould  only  be  mark- 
ed by  the  presumption  of  the  sciolist,  or  the  fan- 
cies of  the  dreamer.  The  only  question,  then,  in- 
volving any  idea  of  change  which  can  arise  in  ref- 
erence to  these  elements  of  knowledge,  is  simply  in 
regard  to  the  proportions  in  which  they  are  to  be 
combined ;  and  so  far  as  this  is  a  practical  question, 
it  will  come  under  our  consideration  bye  and  bye. 
At  present  I  must  pass  to  another  preliminary  con- 
sideration of  no  small  moment. 

There  are  two  points  of  view  from  which,  in  ref- 
erence to  these  general  heads  of  instruction,  w  hich 
have  been  laid  down,  and  to  their  development^ 
every  college  is  to  be  considered.  In  the  one,  it 
will  appear  to  be  in  advance  of  the  age,  and  in  the 
other,  very  far  behind  it.  In  the  one,  it  will  lead,  in 
the  other  it  will  follow.  In  the  one,  it  will  eagerly 
urge  on,  in  the  other,  it  will  as  resolutely  hold  back. 
And  most  probably  it  will  more  frequently  appear 
in  the  latter  character,  than  in  the  former.  In 
times  of  general  mental  depression  and  inactivity, 
when  people  slumber  on  contentedly  amid  old  truths 
or  old  errors,  as  the  case  may  be,  instead  of  reach- 
ing on  to  new  positions  and  new  ideas,  it  is  most 
probable  that  a  College,  if  it  be  at  all  answering 
the  ends  of  its  establishment,  will  lead,  and  rouse, 
and  press  men  onward.  In  fact,  this  is  illustrated 
and  at  the  same  time  proved,  by  the  position  of  the 


I) 

Universities  in  the   earlier  portion  of  the  Middle 
Ages. 

On  tlie  other  li.ind,  in  times  of  f^eneral  mental 
aetivity,  when  minds  are  up  and  doini»",  Avhetiier  for 
^•00(1  or  ill  matters  not  here,  when  all  is  in  rapid 
movement,  Avhen  prineiples  are  set  forth  on  insnlH- 
cient  grounds,  ehanges  introduced  for  insuthcient 
reasons,  and  in  short,  all  intellectual  movements  are 
characterized  by  rash  advances,  hasty  generaliza- 
tions, and  ill-considered  conclusions,  then  the  Col- 
lege must  appear  in  a  different  attitude.  Then  she 
must  restrain,  then  she  must  check  and  even  wisely 
discourage,  content  meanwhile  to  bear  reproach, 
and  endure  opi)rol)ium,  and  be  pointed  at  in  scorn, 
as  anticpiated  and  lagging,  as  timid  and  behind  the 
spirit  of  the  age.  And  this  view  also  finds  an  il- 
lustration in  the  history  of  that  period  to  which  we 
have  before  referred.  For  it  wfis  doubtless  in  no 
small  deii-ree,  the  feelini»-  that  men  of  letters  were 
rashly  rushing  to  extremes,  as  indeed  the  event 
shewed  they  were,  which  later  on  in  the  Middle 
Ages,  arrayed  the  Universities  so  strongly  against 
the  revival  of  classical  pursuits.  It  is  also  illustra- 
ted,— and  this  is  much  more  to  our  purpose  now, — 
in  every  part  of  the  civilized  world.  For  what 
oracular  declaration  is  more  common  on  the  lips  of 
self-complacent  superficialism,  than  that  the  Col- 
leges are  all  behind  the  age?  In  one  sense,  they  as- 
suredly are  so,  and  considering  the  tendencies  of 
the  aoe,  it  is  fortunate  that  they  are.  For  at  this 
mojnent,  with  all  their  defects,  they  constitute  the 

irreat,  and  almost  the  oidy  barrier,  against  the  flood 

2 


10 

of  crudities  in  science,  and  follies  in  philosophy, 
>vhich  sweeps  the  world  wherever  it  can  find  its 
way.  And  when  they  are  thrown,  if  so  their  guar- 
dians shall  suffer  them  to  be,  into  the  stream,  then 
it  will  bear  us  all  on  together  to  a  state  of  intellect- 
ual barbarism  :  where  an  Encyclopedia  will  be  the 
ne  pins  ultra  of  effort  or  of  study. 

We  take  our  ground,  then,  in  the  outset,  on  these 
two  principles  :  that  in  all  time  the  elements  of  in- 
struction must  remain  the  same  ;  that  the  general 
features  of  the  scheme  can  admit  no  essential 
change  :  and  that  in  reference  to  these  elements 
and  this  scheme,  the  position  of  every  well-consti- 
tuted and  rightly  working  College,  be  its  sphere  of 
action  large  or  snmll,  will  be  either  one  of  urging  on, 
or  else  of  holding  back  ;  and  that  this  position  will 
be  regulated  and  determined  by  the  necessities  of 
the  case,  and  the*  exigencies  of  the  times.  This 
prepares  us  to  approach  the  consideration  of  the 
elements  themselves  ;  remembering  ever  that  in  us- 
ing and  applying  them  in  the  Collegiate  curriculum, 
the  object  is  far  less  to  store  with  actual  knowledge, 
tlian  to  train  up  to  a  capacity  for  storing.  So  that 
the  measure  of  a  person's  progress,  who  has  passed 
through  his  undergraduateship,  and  is  proceeding  to 
his  first  degree,  is  by  no  means  the  amount  of  facts 
or  even  principles,  of  whicli  lie  has  made  himself 
the  master;  but  rather  the  condition  of  his  mind, 
as  to  spring  and  saliency,  and  ability  for  grappling 
with  great  principles,  and  storing  in  orderly  and  use- 
ful arrangement  all  those  "  manifold  knowledges," 
as  Lord  Bacon  calls  them,  which  it  will  be  the  la- 
bor of  hi>  life  to  gather  and  preserve. 


11 

In  comino'  now  to  spojik  somewhat  of  tl»o  tliree- 
fold  division  of  our  system  of  instruction,  tiie  very 
unchangcableness  of  the  main  features  of  the  sys- 
tem, do  themselves  present  to  us,  tlmt  compulsory 
reason  for  their  adoption  from  which  there  is  no 
possible  escape,  and  thus  preclude  the  necessity  of 
any  farther  words. 

It  mi<iht  also  seem  that  under  any   circustances 
there  would   be  little  need,  in  our  day  and  in  this 
country,  of  insisting*  upon  the  first  division,  which 
comprised  the  study  of  the  laws  of  nature,  accom- 
panied as  they  must  be,  with  the  pure  mathematics  ; 
in  short,  the  whole  of  inductive  philosophy.     And 
yet  I  do  not  think,  that  there  is  no  need  to  insist 
upon  it.     Rather  I  would  say,  that  there  is  great 
need.     And  there  are  two  reasons  why  this  is  so; 
both  of  which  proceed  from  the  disposition  of  hu- 
man nature  to  vibrate  between   extremes.     In  the 
first  place,  the  inductive  method,  has  unquestiona- 
bly been  pushed  much  farther  than  its  great  expos- 
itor ever  designed  it  should  be.     The  illustrious  au- 
thor of  the  Novum  Organum,  never  intended  that 
the  principles  laid  down  by  him  should  be  applied 
beyond  the  region  of  the  physical  world.     However 
he  may   at  times  have  been  led  into  strong  expres- 
sions and  exaggerated  statements,  still  it  was  physi- 
cal science  that  was  uppermost   in  his  mind  :  and 
there  is  most  abundant  evidence,  that  he  never  con- 
temi)lated  the  aj)|)lication  of  his  process  of  induc- 
tion to  JMorals  or  Theology.     This  application  was 
indeed  the  natural  result  of  an  age,  in  Avhich  every 
question  assumed  a  theologicid  aspect,  but  it  is  not 
a  result  for  which  Bacon  is  accountable.     The  effect 


1-2 

however  of  this  DiisajipHcation  of  his  principles,  of 
this  pushing  his  induction  from  the  region  of  the 
ohjective  into  that  where  the  subjective  is  also 
found,  has  beeu  to  make  many  earnest  minds  sus- 
picious of  the  very  process  itself.  And  we  accord- 
ingly, at  this  moment,  may  find  not  a  few  persons, 
who  confounding  the  use  and  abuse  of  this  induc- 
tive process,  hold  Bacon  responsible  for  a  mistake 
of  his  narrow-minded  contemporaries  and  succes- 
sors ;  and  mIio  thus  are  led  to  decry  that  sound 
principle,  which  regulates  scientific  pursuits,  and 
with  it  the  pursuits  themselves.  In  the  next  place, 
owing  to  the  immense  development  of  mechanical 
agencies  which  the  last  quarter  of  a  century  has 
witnessed,  and  their  immediate  and  wonderful  ope- 
rations in  all  the  intercourse,  arrangements  and 
habits  of  social  life,  working  as  they  have  done  to 
the  most  brilliant  results,  an  undue  degree  of  im- 
portance has  undoubtedly  been  attached  to  those 
branches  of  study  which  are  occupied  with  their 
exposition.  But  is  there  no  danger  of  a  reaction  ? 
Are  there  not  symptoms  in  truth  that  a  reaction 
has  beo:un  1  Are  there  not  signs  of  a  school  of 
sickly  sentimentalists,  who  mistake  play  for  work, 
and  dimness  for  profundity,  and  a  shallow  dis- 
cursiveness for  a  wide  grasp  of  things  ;  whose  fa- 
vorite topic  is  the  lamentation  for  these  disjointed 
times  ;  who  are  forever  decrying  what  they  are 
pleased  to  term  material  tendencies,  and  exalting 
what  they  call  spiritual ;  using  each  word  in  an  ut- 
terly perverted  sense.  For  their  materialism,  is 
simjjly  the  every  day  common  sense  of  all  man- 


13 

kind,  niid  their  spiritiitilism  is  that  false  and  misera- 
ble "stutK  that  (h*eaii»s  are  made  of,"  which  spends 
itself  in  theories  of  proi»ress,  and  schemes  of  per- 
fectibility- 

And  both  these  thin»s  tend  towards  one  issue,  and 
that  issue  a  most  disastrous  one.  For,  leaving  all 
other  considerations  out  of  view,  is  not  the  effect  of 
scientific  pursuits,  when  entered  upon  and  prose- 
cuted as  they  should  be,  most  healthful,  not  only 
on  the  mind,  but  also  on  the  heart  i  I  know  indeed 
that  shallow  minds  may  be  puffed  up  with  them, 
and  so  they  will  be  with  any  thing  whatever :  I 
know  that  the  principles  which  govern  in  them  may 
be  transferred  to  other  fields  of  knowledge  and  of 
truth  to  which  they  do  not  belong,  and  that  men  by 
attempting  to  reason  in  morals  and  theology,  as 
they  do  in  physical  science,  may  make  themselves 
fools,  amid  a  show  of  seeming  wisdom :  I  know 
that  minds  may  linger  among  them  in  a  low  ma- 
terialistic way,  till  they  themselves  become  cramped 
and  fettered.  And  to  all  this,  there  is  for  a  reply, 
the  trite  old  adage,  Abusus  non  toUit  usuin ;  and  it 
is  reply  enough.  While  the  habits  of  patience,  hu- 
mility, and  self-control,  which  these  pursuits  when 
rightly  followed  out,  engender,  are  quite  as  impor- 
tant in  a  moral  point  of  view,  as  they  can  ])e  in  an 
intellectual ;  and  suggest  in  connection  with  intel- 
lectual discipline,  some  of  the  great  and  holy  ends 
for  which  science  should  he  pursued. 

It  will  be  observed,  that  1  have  all  along  gone 
on  the  supposition,  that  this  branch  of  study  was 
prosecuted  in  the  right  spirit.     The  very  supposi- 


14 

tion  ndniits  that  there  may  be  a  wrong  one.  But 
here  I  trust  that  spirit  Avill  never  find  an  entrance. 
Here  I  trust,  there  will  ever  be  an  humble  rever- 
ence ;  a  patient  waiting  upon  God's  unseen  work- 
ino's  ;  an  awful  recognition  of  the  solemn  truths  that 
nature  every  where  shews  forth  ;  a  feeling  that  she 
addresses  the  imagination  as  well  as  instructs  the 
reason.  "Science  then,"  to  use  the  words  of  our 
greatest  living  Poet, 

"  Science  then, 
Shall  be  a  precious  Visitant :  and  then, 
And  only  then,  be  worthy  of  her  name. 
For  then  her  Heart  shall  kindle  :  her  dull  Eye, 
Dull  and  inanimate,  no  more  shall  hang 
Chained  to  its  object  in  brute  slavery : 
But  taught  with  patient  interest  to  watch 
The  processes  of  things,  and  serve  the  cause 
Of  order  and  distinctness,  not  for  this, 
Shall  it  forget  that  its  most  noble  use. 
Its  most  illustrious  province  must  be  found, 
In  furnishing  clear  guidance,  and  support 
Not  treacherous,  to  the  mind's  excursive  power." 

And  thus — 

"  Whate'er  we  see, 
Whate'er  we  feel,  by  agency  direct 
Or  indirect,  shall  tend  to  feed  and  nurse 
Our  faculties,  shall  fix  in  calmer  seats 
Of  moral  strength,  and  raise  to  loftier  heights. 
Of  love  divine,  our  intellectual  soul."* 

In  proceeding  to  comment  upon  the  second 
branch  of  our  studies,  the  languages  and  literature 
of  ancient  and  of  modern  times,  I  must  confine  my- 
self to  a  few  more  prominent  points,  and  leave  by 

♦The  Excursion,  Book  IV. 


15 

far  the  greater  portion  of  the  fiehl  imtfjuched.  And 
the  first  (|iie.stion  which  naturally  presents  itself,  re- 
fers to  the  relative  position  which  is  to  be  assigned 
respectively,  to  what  are  strangely  called  the  dead 
languages  on  the  one  hand,  and  to  those  which  are 
termed  living  on  the  other.  And  this  cpiestion  in- 
volves with  it  moreover,  the  consideration  of  the 
whole  vexed  subject  of  classical  studies. 

It  seems  to  me  that  a  great  deal  of  apparent 
difhculty  is  removed,  by  simply  observing  how  much 
misunderstanding  has  arisen  from  the  improper  use 
of  the  word  "dead."  Just  as  the  word  Gothic  has 
been  used  at  times  to  cast  a  slur  upon  that  noblest 
architectural  development  that  the  world  has  ever 
seen,  so  has  this  term  "dead,"  been  the  occasion  and 
the  source  of  numberless  prejudices  against  the 
languages  of  Greece  and  Rome.  For  it  can  cause 
no  wonder,  that  an  age  teeming  with  life  and  in- 
stinct with  action,  should  look  coldly  upon  things 
whose  very  appellation  seems  to  remove  them  far 
from  both.  And  yet  under  what  circumstances 
would  the  term  be  pro})erly  applied  ?  Shall  we  call 
a  language  dead  simply  because  it  has  ceased  to  be 
heard  in  the  mart  or  the  assembly,  or  the  ordinary 
mtercourse  of  social  life?  Is  a  language  dead 
because  ledgers  are  not  posted  in  it,  or  news- 
papers printed  in  it,  or  diplomatic  correspond- 
ence carried  on  by  its  instrumeiittility  1  AVhen 
its  elements,  and  laws,  and  whole  living  form 
and  spirit,  enter  into  the  language  of  every  civilized 
nation  under  heaven  1  Are  oaks  dead  when  around 
one  or  two  venerable   parent  stems,  a  whole  green 


16 

and  2:lorioiis  forest  has  burst  into  existence?  In 
the  name  not  ah)ne  of  scholarship,  hut  even  of 
common  sense,  we  protest  aa^ainst  such  a  perversion. 
"In  what  a  condition  shoukl  we  be,  if  our  connection 
with  the  past  were  sna})ped,  if  Greek  and  Latin 
were  forijotten  1.  What  shoidd  we  think  of  our 
own  languages?  They  would  appear  a  mere  mass 
of  incoherent  caprice,  and  wanton  lawlessness. 
The  several  nations  of  Europe  would  be  in  this  re- 
spect at  least,  like  those  tribes  of  savages  who  oc- 
cupy a  vast  continent,  speaking  a  set  of  jargons  in 
which  scarcely  a  resemblance  can  be  traced  in  any 
two,  or  a  consistency  in  any  one.  The  various 
European  languages,"  and  I  must  of  course  include 
our  own  among  them,  "appear  to  us  obviously  con- 
nected, mainly  because  we  hold  the  Latin  thread 
which  runs  through  them  ;  if  that  were  broken,  the 
pearls  would  soon  roll  asimder.  And  the  mental 
connexion  of  present  nations  with  each  other,  as 
well  as  with  the  })ast,  would  be  destroyed.  What 
would  this  be  but  a  retrograde  movement  in  civili- 
zation ?*"  For  be  it  remembered,  at  the  very  in- 
stant when  the  dismembered  nations  of  the  Ro- 
man Empire,  began  to  come  out  of  their  fragmenta- 
ry states  of  barbarism,  at  that  very  moment,  and  by 
that  very  impulse,  classical  studies  revived,  the  deep 
common  bond  of  the  foundation  language  was  re- 
curred to.  Nor  can  I  coimt  it  as  anything  but  a 
sign  of  a  return  to  old  separations,  and  elementary 
nationalities,  which  must  issue  in  barbarous  and 
even  savage  individualism,   when  the  use  of  this 

•The  Master  of  Trinity,  Cambridge. 


17 

common  bond  is  denied ;  and  men  with  words 
which  they  never  wouhl  have  used,  and  forms 
which  tliey  never  wouhl  have  known  l)ut  for  the 
lan«j^uai»es  of  Greece  and  Rome,  pronounce  them 
dead  I 

Tiiere  is  no  greater  error  than  to  imagine  that 
any  age  can  dispense  witli  the  intellectual  advance- 
ment of  the  ages  which  preceded  it.  Least  of  all 
can  this  be  done  in  language,  that  most  delicate 
and  wonderful  of  all  thin"s  on  which  intellectual 
cultivation  can  expend  itself.  Nor  can  we  possibly 
estimate  the  importance  in  view  of  this  fact,  that  all 
modern  civilized  nations  have  learned  the  forms 
and  processes  of  general  grammar  from  common 
sources,  and  referred  them  to  a  common  standard. 
Let  these  common  sources  be  abandoned,  let  this 
common  standard  be  thrown  aside,  and  what  be- 
comes of  all  those  advantages  which  have  resulted 
to  the  nations,  from  a  common  intellectual  training, 
in  the  most  delicate  and  deep  reaching  of  all  parts 
of  mental  cultivation  1 

And  there  is  another  and  a  higher  view  of  this 
matter,  which  should  be  much  insisted  on.  There 
has  been  a  })hilosophy  in  the  world,  which  happily  is 
rapidly  passing  away,  that  among  a  vast  many  other 
crude  and  debased  notions,  held  that  words  were 
mere  arbitrary  signs  of  thought,  possessing  no  real 
connexion  with  that  which  they  represented.  Far 
dift'erent  is  that  stirring  and  noble  view  of  language, 
which  recognizes  the  intimate  aiul  intrinsic  connex- 
ion of  thought  and  speech,  which,  in  the  words  of 
its  greatest  expositor,  regards  speech  as  a  thinking 


18 

outwardly  projected  and  manifested,  and  considers 
thinkino;  to  be  an  inward  speaking,  and  a  never  end- 
ing dialogne  with  one's  ownself.    Indeed,  what  pow- 
ers of  the  mind  are  there,  which  are  not  developed  in 
lajiguage  1     The  reason  working  in  its  structure, 
the  fancy  soaring  in  its  figures,  the  understanding 
adjusting  its  arrangement,  surely  here  is  wide  and 
glorious  play  of  intellectual  strength.     For  so  it  is, 
to  use  his  noble  words  to  whom  I  just  referred,  that 
"  the  growth  of  languages,"  springing  from  a  divine 
original,  "  and  shooting  forth  from  epoch  to  epoch, 
with  all  the  vast  riches  of  art,  does  but  hold  before 
us  as  it  were  a  w  ritten  monument  and  memorial  of 
the  thinking  conciousness  of  our  race  ;  assuming  as 
it  were  a  bodily  shape,  and  presenting  itself  before 
us,  as  the  common  memory  of  all  mankind."*     Now 
who  can  trace  and  tell,  the  ten  thousand  ways,  in 
w  liich  this  mighty  memory,  this  history  of  the  uni- 
versal thinking   consciousness,  must  be  connected 
w  ith  the  living  thoughts   of  our  own  age  and  gene- 
ration ?      What  are  those  material   chances    and 
commixtures  of  the  earth  we  tread  on,  wonderful 
as  they  are,  and  worthy  of  being  reverently  studied, 
what    are    these,    compared   with    those    changes, 
and  shiftings,  and  commixtures   of  word-projected 
thought,  in  which  there  live    not  elements  of  being 
which    spring  up   in  forms  of  fair  material  beauty, 
but  principles  of  life,  which  have  issued  in  all  those 
spoken   thoughts,  those    thoughtful  words,  which 
adorn  the  world  of  man's  intellinfence  ?     And  if  this 

•Frederick  Sclilegel. 


19 

be  so,  if  there  l)c  in  languai^c  all  this  (loop  philoso- 
phy, this  stroiii^  exercise  of  every  mental  power,  this 
training  of  the  reason,  this  working;  of  the  fancy, 
these  movements  of  the  nnderstandini^,  how  can  a 
conrse  of  study,  which  proposes  to  itself  to  serve 
the  ends  of  liberal  cidture  and  elevated  scholarship, 
allot  any  other  than  the  first  place  among  the  "hu- 
manities," to  those  two  languages,  which  have  thus 
far  made  all  lettered  nations  one,  and  every  scholar 
a  sharer  in  the  general  civilization  ? 

This,  then,  I  hold  to  be  a  sufficient  vindication, 
on  deep  and  elemental  grounds,  of  that  position 
which  has  always  been  given  to  the  ancient  lan- 
guages, in  well  tried  courses  of  liberal  studies.  A 
position  which  here,  I  trust,  will  never  be  infringed, 
but  guarded  and  kept  with  jealous  care,  a  venera- 
ble depositum  inherited  from  ilustrious  sires,  a  safe 
standard  and  abiding  j)()int  of  great  and  lofty  effort, 
amid  present  littleness,  and  shifting  theories,  the  pet 
barbarisms  of  a  contracted  present.  It  may  suffice 
here  to  add,  the  simple  statement,  that  next  in 
place  to  these,  should  stand  the  study  of  our  moth- 
er tongue  ;  not  only  because  it  is  our  mother  tongue, 
but  also  because  it  is  the  youngest  and  the  noblest 
of  the  languages,  which  have  grown  up  with  the 
growth  of  modern  civilization. 

In  this  brief  survey,  I  have  not  attenn)ted  at  all 
to  urge  the  value  of  the  Literature,  which  can  be 
reached  by  classical  studies,  and  by  nothing  else. 
It  is  not  that  I  would  be  uinnindful  of  it.  It  is  not 
that  I  forget,  how  the  proudest  triumph  of  Chris- 
tian Letters    was  its  appropriation,  ami  subjection 


20 

to  the  Faith's  great  rulersliip.  It  is  not  tliat  I  do  not 
hear  the  voices  of  the  whole  ninhitude  of  scholars 
in  all  time,  whose  mighty  sonnd  overpowers  the  pet- 
ty cavilling  of  a  single  generation.  But  it  is  sim- 
ply because  I  have  desired  to  dwell  upon  the  study 
of  the  learned  lanouasres  as  such,  and  to  indicate 
some  reasons,  few  indeed,  but  I  hope  solid  and  con- 
vincing, why,  irrespective  of  their  literature,  and  all 
its  treasiu'es,  they  should  still  occupy  that  high  po- 
sition which  thus  far  they  have  sustained,  in  every 
liberal  course  of  study. 

The  third  division  of  our  academical  studies,  is 
one  which  covers  so  wide  a  field,  that  it  must  be 
touched  upon  in  even  a  more  cursory  manner,  than 
those  which  have  preceded  it.  I  do  not  know  in- 
deed that  more  can  or  need  be  accomplished  here, 
than  to  indicate  the  leading  principles  which  must 
guide  and  govern  in  its  subdivisions,  and  then  to 
say  a  few  words  of  the  modes  of  instruction  in 
them.  History,  Metaphysics,  Ethics,  and  Politics, 
using  the  latter  word  in  its  original  and  proper 
sense,  and  not  in  its  debased  and  improper  one, 
these  are  the  principal  subdivisions,  which  cover 
the  consideration  of  man  in  all  his  possible  condi- 
tions and  situations,  as  well  as  in  his  actual  doings. 

Beginning  then  here,  with  the  actual,  that  is  with 
History,  if  it  be  taught  to  any  real  purpose,  it  must 
be  taught  philosophically  ;  and  if  it  be  taught  philo- 
sophically, it  must  be  taught  with  a  constant  refer- 
ence to  the  Holy  Scriptures.  AVithout  the  key, 
which  they  alone  afford,  History  is  but  a  mass  of 
disconnected  facts,  and  purposeless  events,  the  blind 


21 

chance  rnedley  wliicli  admits  no  explanation,  and 
l^ivcs  no  deep  and  solcnui  tcacliin<^.  In  history  al- 
so, rightly  taui>ht  on  the  sound  princi[)l('s  set  forth 
hy  the  illustrious  Bossuet,  and  the  no  less  illustrious 
Frederick  Schlegel,  must  be  found  the  chief,  I  h.ul 
almost  said  the  only  antidote  to  some  of  the  most 
pestilent  and  intolerant  speculations  of  the  day. 
For  he  who  would  meet  the  dreams  of  unbroken 
progress  which  are  floating  all  around  us,  he  who 
would  contend  against  that  optimism  at  once  pan- 
theistic and  atheistic,  which  finds  votaries  on  every 
side,  he  who  would  expound  the  true  idea  of  real 
progress,  and  vindicate  the  ways  of  God  in  his  deal- 
ings with  our  race,  where  can  he  take  his  stand, 
but  amongst  the  mighty  lessons  of  the  past  ?  And 
here,  and  only  here,  as  starting  from  the  sad  com- 
mencement in  human  history  in  the  fall  of  man,  he 
sees  the  nations  each  with  a  nation's  life, issuing  from 
the  troubled  elements,  and  enn)ire  after  empire,  dim 
expressions  of  man's  deep  longings  for  that  which 
God  alone  could  give,  following  in  rapid  and  awful 
march,  till  the  fifth  great  empire,  filling  man's  need 
and  reforming  the  world,  descends  from  heaven,  and 
rises  amid  the  ancient  wrecks,  as  the  eartli  itself 
sprang  forth  from  chaos,  here,  I  say,  and  onl}  here, 
can  he  make  successful  issue  for  those  miiihtv  truths, 
which  are  linked  with  all  our  highest  destinies,  our 
noblest  efibrts,  our  holiest  aspirations.  Away  with 
that  low,  unworthy  view,  which  looks  upon  this 
study,  as  the  amusement  of  a  vacant  hour,  or  at 
best  the  solace  of  learned  leisure.     It  may  be  made 


22 

no  more,  but  it  is  a  hazardous  and  a  wretched  thing 
to  make  it  so. 

And  the  same  general  remark  must  of  course  ap- 
ply to  the  three  other  subdivisions  which  have  been 
noted.  The  object  is  not  here  to  amuse  with  fine 
spun  theories,  to  sharpen  with  dialetical  niceties,  or 
in  short,  to  trifle  in  any  manner  or  to  any  degree. 
But  in  a  true  and  earnest  spirit,  as  knowing  what 
deep  and  living  things  are  dealt  with,  to  give  in 
each  case  the  sound  and  guiding  principles,  the  safe 
and  fixed  stand  points,  which  shall  furnish  beacon 
lights  in  the  darkness  of  human  doubts,  and  secure 
footholds   in    the    deluge    of  human    speculations. 

Avoiding  in  Metaphysics  the  mere  sensualism  of 
the  school  of  Locke,  and  the  wild  idealism  of  Kant, 
and  Fichte,  and  Schelling,  and  Hegel,  the  extremes 
of  utter  empiricism  and  as  utter  speculation,  of  the 
denial  of  imagination,  and  its  unbridled  license,  we 
are  to  recognize  the  great  fact  that  the  soul  does 
not  come  into  the  world  a  blank,  even  in  the  mere 
matter  of  acquired  knowledge  :  "  that  it  has  been 
touched  by  a  celestial  hand,  and  when  plunged  into 
the  colors  which  surround  it,  takes  not  its  tinge  by 
accident  but  by  design,  and  comes  forth  covered 
with  a  glorious  pattern."  That  having  thus  enter- 
ed on  its  earthly  being,  it  is  not  by  the  senses  alone 
and  their  experience,  that  knowledge  is  acquired  ; 
but  that  the  affections,  the  moral  faculties,  the  im- 
agination, the  reason,  the  understanding,  all  have 
their  place  ;  while  some  of  the  very  highest  truths 
he  ever  learns,  are  reached  by  an  intuition  higher 


23 

than  any  roasonin<T^,  or  received  by  an  exercise  of  a 
rational  l)ut  an  undoulitin"-  faitli. 

Avoiding-  in  morals  the  miserable  expe<liency  of 
the  Paleyan  school,  with  all  its  lessons  of  time  serv- 
ing selfishness,  and  its  denial  of  disinterested  labor  and 
heroic  effort,  and  avoiding  too  their  impracticable 
schemes,  who  from  the  Christian  Revelation  with 
its  manifold  motives  and  inducements,  woald  turn 
back  to  the  heathen  idea,  of  the  abstract  love  of 
virtue,    we    are  to   teach  the    supremacy  of  well- 
instructed  conscience,  the  ruling'  guidance  of  amor- 
al sense  implanted  by  God  himself  to  "  accuse  or 
excuse  us,"  in  foreshadowing  of  his  judgment.     We 
are  to   teach  too  that  it  works  by  manifold  motives, 
in  the  threefold  relation  which  each  man  sustains, 
and  cannot  work  by  any  one  alone  :  while  fear  and 
love,  and  even  self-love  in    its  highest  forms,  are  all 
admitted  as    lawful  springs  of  action.     No    more 
here  than  in  metaphysics,  can  we  admit  the  doctrine 
of  the  tabula  rasa,  which  not  only  denies  innate 
ideas,  but   also   refuses  to   acknowledije  a  moral 
sense.     While  the  only  true  starting  point  for  any 
effective  scheme  of  ethics,  must  be  from  the  great 
fact  of  the  fall  of  nmn  ;  the  only  effective  line   of 
statement  and  of  teaching  nnist  be  one,  which  re- 
cognizes the  truth  that  natural  religion  is  completed 
in  the  Gospel,  in  which  the  earthly  things  of  human 
ethics  are  crowned  and  glorified,  with  the  heavenly 
things  of  God's  great  Revelation.     And  yet  while 
these  divine  truths  are  taken  as  the  substance,  the 
human  arrangements,  classifications,    and  skeleton 
work  of  the  Greek  philosophy,  may  advantageously 


24 

be  used,  in  teaching-  the  adjustment  of  the  parts, 
and  the  allotments  of  the  frame  work.*  Not  that 
Aristotle  or  Plato  are  to  be  blindly  folloAved,  or 
parts  adopted  from  them  by  a  rule  of  individual 
eclecticism;  but  that  they  are  to  be  used  and  chosen 
from,  in  the  light  of  those  very  principles  and  truths, 
and  all  that  knowledge,  which  they  still  may  help 
to  arrange  and  systematize. 

Avoiding  in  politics, — still  using  the  word  in  its  ab- 
stract and  proper  sense, — the  notion  of  an  original 
compact  made  for  convenience  and  safety  by  a  horde 
ofsavages,and  the  idea  of  a  divine  rightvested  in  a  per- 
sonal descent,  we  are  to  teach  thatg-overnment  is  just 
as  natural  and  as  necessary  a  state  for  man,  as  the 

family.  That  on  the  self  same  grounds,  it  is  divine. 
That  it  is  God's  commissioned  vicegerent,  to  exe- 
cute vengeance,  as  well  as  to  strive  for  the  reforma- 
tion of  the  offender.  That  it  is  invested  with  the 
most  awful  prerogatives  and  guarded  by  the  most 
fearful  sanctions.  That  under  whatever  form  it 
may  appear,  it  is  that  in  which  the  abstract  State, 
works  and  lives,  claiming  on  every  ground,  our 
reverence  and  our  obedience.  That  its  univer- 
sal principles  and  laws,  are  based  on  the  eternal 
rules  of  right  and  truth,  and  are  not  subject  to  the 
changes  and  the  chances  of  mens'  shifting  Avills,  and 
varying  caprices.  In  short,  by  History  we  strive  to 
form  the  man  of  grasp,  and  foresight,  and  wide- 
reaching  view  :  by  3Ietaphysics,  the  man  prepared 
under  a  higher  guidance  to  know  himself  in  all  his 

*See  Sewell's  Christian  Ethics. 


25 

complex  unity,  his  oneness  of  complexity  ;  l)y  Eth- 
ics, the  man  prepared  by  the  same  aid  and  «  uidance, 
to  dischar«:;e  his  duties,  to  himself,  his  fellows  and 
his  God  ;  and  by  Politics,  the  man  prepared  to  play 
his  part  as  the  <^ood  and  the  patriotic  citizen,  lovino- 
liberty,  and  hatin*^  license,  and  knowin<»  that  the 
truest  independence  is  to  be  found  in  dignified  obe- 
dience to  a  superior  law. 

And  now  to  sum  up  tliis  brief  and  meagre  sketch 
let  me  add,  that  all  parts  of  this  course  of  hunmn 
learning  and  liberal  study,  are  to  be  taught  as  inti- 
mately connected  with  the  whole  of  future  life.  It 
will  not  do  to  give  the  young  man  the  impression, 
that  his  college  life  is  as  it  were,  but  a  parenthesis 
in  his  existence,  isolated  and  separated,  uncon- 
nected with  either  what  precedes  or  follows  it.  Not 
so.  It  gathers  up  the  acquirements,  the  powers, 
the  faculties  of  earlier  days,  it  directs  antl  gives  a 
tone  to,  these  same  things,  as  they  stretch  onward  to 
maturer  life.  It  gives  the  keys  of  knowledge,  it 
teaches  how  to  use  them  ;  and  if  they  who  hold 
them,  will  not  then  unlock  the  vast  and  glorious 
treasure-house,  the  fault  is  all  their  own. 

One  word  more,  and  I  have  done.  In  tlie  inspir- 
ed and  beautiful  narrative  of  the  Redeemer's  birtli, 
we  read  hoW'  there  came  to  worsliip  at  His  sacred 
feet,  two  very  difierent  sets  of  persons,  the  hum])le 
shepherds  of  Judea,  the  learned  pliilosophers  of 
eastern  lands.  Tiu'v  then  presented  in  atoucliiu"- 
type,  the  twofold  worshij)  wliich  in  all  tinu'  since, 
has  clustered  around  the  personal  \\  isdom,  who  was 
made  for  us  not  sauctilicatiou  oidy,  but  knowledgr 

i 


2(5 

also,  and  who  was  then  a  lone  and  feeble  child. 
That  twofold  worship  was  then,  and  has  been  since, 
the  adoring  submission  of  cultivated  intellects,  the 
simple  homage  of  untaught,  trusting  souls.  Hap- 
py he  who  can  offer  both  !  Happy  he  who  gaining 
human  knowledge,  still  loses  not  the  simplicity  of 
childlike,  trusting  faith  !  Behold  in  this, — and  here 
let  me  especially  speak  to  those  who  are  ever  near- 
est to  my  heart,  the  younger  sons  of  our  honored 
Mother, — behold  in  this,  the  spirit,  in  which  allthese 
branches  of  human  learning  that  I  have  laid  be- 
fore you,  are  to  be  pursued.  Let  them  ever  bring 
us  where  they  brought  those  wise  men  of  the  east, 
to  the  feet  of  Him  who  is  the  head  of  all  things, 
the  second  person  in  that  glorious  Godhead,  whose 
thrice  Holy  Name  adorns  and  consecrates  our 
home.  And  when  it  thus  shall  bring  us,  let  our 
hearts  still  be  as  trusting  and  as  humble,  as  those  of 
the  meek  shepherds  who  knew  not  and  yet  believ- 
ed. Unless  this  is  so,  we  shall  have  learned  to  lit- 
tle purpose,  nay,  to  none  at  all.  But  if  it  be  so, 
then  we  shall  have  found  that  fear  of  the  Lord 
which  is  the  beginning  of  wisdom.  And  then  when 
wisdom  thus  begun  on  earth,  shall  be  perfected 
above  ;  when  the  slow  processes  of  human  science 
shall  give  place  to  angelic  intuition  ;  when  the  many 
languages  of  earth  with  their  painfully  learned 
combinations,  shall  be  replaced  by  the  one  glorious 
speech  of  heaven  ;  when  the  risen  body,  and  the 
perfected  spirit,  shall  need  no  wearisome  search- 
ings  to  be  understood  ;  when  the  progressive  his- 
tory of  time  shall  have   issued   in  the   ever  present 


27 


imd  iinchaiioino'  eternity  ;  when  moral  rules  and 
laws,  shall  be  forgotten  by  the  soul  whose  very  life 
is  untenipted  uiitiiouiiht  of  obedience  ;  when  the 
governments  and  the  rulcrships  of  earth  shall  be 
lost  in  the  unending  kingdom  of  our  God  ;  then 
shall  that  fear  of  llim  which  lay  at  the  foundation 
of  our  earthly  knowledge,  be  changed  to  that  un- 
utterable love,  which  shall  crown  and  complete  our 
heavenly.  Our  work  shall  then  be  done;  our  train- 
ing shall  then  be  completed.  Children  here  how- 
ever long  we  live,  then  at  last,  then  only,  shall  we 
be  truly  men. 


COURSE   OF    STUDY 

ACCORDING    TO    THE    STATUTES    OF 

TRINITY    COLLEGE. 


FRESHMAN  YEAR. 

Advent  Term.  Xenophon's  Anabasis. 

Livy,  with  writing  Latin. 

Algebra. 

English  Translations  and  Readings. 


Lent  Term.     Xenophon's  Anabasis,  with  writing  of  Greek. 

The  Odes  of  Horace,  with  Latin   Prosody  and 

writing  Latin. 
Plane  Geometry. 
English  Translations  and  Readings. 


Trinity  Term.   Herodotus,  with  writing  of  Greek. 

The  Epistles  and  Satires  of  Horace,  with  writing 

of  Latin. 
Solid  Geometry. 

Lowth's  English  Grammar;  English  Composition, 
and  Declamation. 

On  Monday  mornings  throughout  the  year,  a  lesson  in  the  Greek 
Testament  from  the  Gospels. 


30 


SOPHOMORE   YEAR. 


Advent  Term.   Xenophon's  Memorabilia. 

Cicero  de  Senectute,  de  Amicitia,  i&c. 
Trigonometry. 


Lent   Term.      Homer,  with  Greek  Prosody. 
Conic  Sections. 
Juvenal ;  Terence. 


Trinity  Term.    Homer  ;  Aristophanes. 
Tacitus. 

Natural  Philosophy. 
Elements  of  Rhetoric  and  Logic. 

Writing  of  Greek  and  Latin  ;  English  Composition  ;  Reading 
and  Declamation,  throughout  the  year.  Also,  on  Monday  morn- 
ings recitations  in  the  Greek  Testament  ;  Acts  of  the  Apostles. 


31 


JUNIOR   YEAR. 

Advent  Ti:um.    French. 

Natural  Philosophy. 

Tacitus  continued.     Thucydides. 

Lectures  on  Literature. 


Lent   TEiiai.      Greek  Tragedies. 

Rhetoric,  with  Lectures  on  Literature  and  on  the 

English  Language. 
Optics. 


Trinity  Term,    Logic  and  Intellectual  Philosophy. 

Portions  of  Aristotle's  Ethics,  and  of  Plato. 
Astronomy  begun. 

French  is  continued  at  the  option  of  the  student,  throughout  the 
year,  as  a  voluntary  study.  On  monday  mornings,  recitations  in 
the  Greek  Testament,  the  Epistles  to  the  Romans  and  Colossians. 
Exercises  in  writing  French ;  English  Compositions  ;  Forensic  De- 
bates and  Declamations  through  the  year  ;  and  exercises  in  wri- 
ting Greek  and  Latin. 


32 


SENIOR  YEAR. 


Advent  Tekm.  Moral  Philosophy. 

History  ;  Lectures  and  references. 

Astronomy  concluded ;  Lectures  on  Electricity  and 


Magnetism. 


Lent   Tkkm.     Butler's  Analogy. 

Law  of  Nations  and  Political  Science. 

Lectures  on  Law. 

Chemistry. 

Lectures  on  History  concluded. 


Tkinity  Term.   Schlegel's  History  of  Literature  ;  with  Lectures. 
Meteorology. 
Lectures  on  Galvanism. 
Hebrew. 

Lectures  on  Botany  and  Anatomy. 
Lectures  on  English  Literature. 

French  continued,  with  Latin  or  Greek  as  voluntary  studies. 
Greek  Testament  on  Monday  mornings,  Epistle  to  the  Hebrews 
and  Epistles  of  St.  John.  Debates  ;  Original  Declamations ;  Eng- 
lish Composition  ;  and  Exercises  in  writing  Greek  and  Latin. 


€^t  ^niliirare  of  CjjDitglji 

AN 

ORATION 

BEFORE    THE 

NEW-YORK  ALPHA 

OF    THE 

PHI  BETA  KAPPA  SOCIETY. 

DELIVERED  AT  UNION  COLLEGE,  SCHENECTADY, 
JULY  22,  1851, 

lA^T^^C    oO^o  ^4  BJC  c-.f-  J^-.- 

BY   THE 

REV.  THOMAS  M.  CLARK,  D.  D., 

RECTOR   OF    CHRIST   CHURCH,   HARTFORD,   CONN. 


Irlirnrrtnliii : 

a.  Y.  VAN  DEBOGERT,  89  STATE-STREET. 

RIGGS PRINTER. 

1851. 


ORATION. 


The  present  is  one  of  those  choice  occasions,  when 
men  of  study  and  action  come  together,  to  discuss 
no  question  of  politics,  to  re-affirm  no  theological 
dogma,  to  agitate  no  specific  reform,  to  encourage 
no  metaphysical  collision,  but  simply  to  cherish  their 
common  brotherhood  of  thought  and  affection.  It 
is  the  calm  hour  of  armistice,  we  have  grounded  our 
weapons,  "our  bugles  sing  truce":  the  conservative 
and  the  progressive,  the  Calvinist  and  the  Arminian, 
the  sensationalist  and  the  idealist,  have  retired  under 
the  olive  shade,  to  allow  the  generous  instincts  of  the 
soul  a  brief  season  of  enjoyment.  Forces,  that  a 
while  ago  stood  arrayed  in  steel,  confronting  each 
other  with  deadly  glance,  now  lovingly  recall  the 
teachings  of  their  common  Alma  Mater ;  and  the 
fierce  polemic  feels  almost  grateful  that  his  well- 
loaded  petard,  which  he  thought  would  produce  such 
destruction  amongst  his  foes,  has  after  all  proved  so 
innocuous,  and  he  smiles  grimly  to  see  that  those, 
whom  he  then  expected  to  annihilate,  still  live  un- 
harmed, unalienated,  and  even  unconscious  of  his 
ferocious  intent.     Our  better  nature  vindicates  itself, 


4 

and  the  monarchs  of  the  forest  come  forth  from  the 
tangled  rushes  of  controversy  mto  day-light,  where 
they  can  see  eye  to  eye,  and  learn  lessons  of  forbear- 
ance and  charity,  before  they  retire  to  the  fens  again. 

It  is,  therefore,  not  a  time  for  the  utterance  of  ex- 
clusive truths,  but  rather  of  such  as  are  inclusive  and 
comprehensive ;  not  for  the  microscopic  scrutiny  of 
minute  points,  but  for  the  use  of  that  broad  object- 
glass,  which  reflects  at  once  the  whole  orb  of  truth. 
Instead  of  attempting  to  resolve  nebulous  specks,  we 
would  sweep  the  horizon,  and  see  whither  the  known 
systems  are  tending.  It  is  not  an  easy  task  that  we 
propose,  for  it  is  more  difficult  to  deal  in  generals 
than  in  particulars,  unless  we  are  content  with  a  re- 
iteration of  bald  truisms,  which  no  one  doubts,  be- 
cause they  interest  no  one.  We  have  no  new  facts 
and  no  new  theories  to  present,  our  material  is  only 
the  common  property  of  all  who  know  and  think  : 
the  chess-men  are  furnished  to  our  hand,  and  you 
are  familiar  Avith  every  piece  on  the  board ;  but  we 
will  just  watch  the  movements  of  these  kings  and 
castles,  these  knights  and  bishops,  and  these  humbler 
pawns,  and  see  what  game  they  play. 

The  childhood,  the  adolescence,  and  the  maturity 
of  society  are  marked  by  three  characteristics :  the 
first  by  the  absolute  reign  of  power,  the  second  by 
the  defined  rule  of  prerogative,  and  the  third  by  the 
conditional  control  of  influence. 

In  the  beginning,  the  strong  seize  upon  the  weak, 
and  by  superior  force  compel  their  obedience,  for 


5 
good  or  for  evil.  The  ablest  man  becomes  a  tyrant, 
or  sovereign  prince,  as  the  word  originally  signified  ; 
and  weaker  mortals  lie  under  him,  or  become  his 
subjects.  The  title  of  king,  in  its  old  Saxon  form,  is 
in  this  connection  peculiarly  significant ;  whether  it 
means  one  who  Jcens,  or  knows,  or  one  who  can,  or  is 
able.  The  sword  is  the  primitive  emblem  of  justice, 
and  of  whatever  pertains  to  government.  All  duty 
and  all  discipline  begin  with  simple  submission ;  and 
this  submission  is  rendered,  because  it  is  inevitable. 

The  dominance  of  power  passes  over  in  a  natural 
way  into  that  of  prerogative.  Strength,  whether  of 
body  or  mind,  cannot  be  transmitted  from  genera- 
tion to  o;eneration ;  and  as  the  original  ruler  desires 
to  preserve  within  his  own  family  the  results  of  his 
prowess,  he  must  do  it  by  investing  his  descendants 
with  hereditary  privileges.  The  first  Baron  is  simply 
the  most  barbarous  barbarian,  the  titles  being  in  fact 
synonymous,  and  both,  as  their  common  root  indi- 
cates, signifying  strength.  But,  in  time,  the  original 
thought  of  the  word  is  lost,  and  it  becomes  the 
general  and  peculiar  title  of  nobility ;  no  elevation 
in  rank  being  complete  without  its  barony.  The 
general  deference  yielded  to  prerogative  betokens  an 
advance  in  civilization :  and  the  presumption  is  that 
those  who  are  born  to  rule,  will  receive  some  sort  of 
education  to  fit  them  for  their  station ;  while,  if  there 
were  no  such  hereditary  rulers,  there  w^ould  be  no 
education  whatever  in  any  class  of  society.  But  this 
condition  of  things  cannot  become  permanent,  with- 


6 

out  supposing  the  people  at  large  to  remain  unin- 
formed and  stationary.  If  the  idea  of  general  pro- 
gress be  allowed,  there  must  come  a  period  when  the 
dominion  of  mere  prerogative  will  cease.  And 
whenever  by  the  will  of  society,  an  old  dynasty  is 
superseded  and  a  new  family  called  to  the  throne,  it 
is  a  virtual  proclamation  that  the  era  of  influence  has 
commenced. 

This  is  the  social  condition  towards  which  the 
wojld  now  culminates.  The  general  distribution  of 
intelligence  renders  it  inevitable,  not  only  that  man- 
kind shall  be  delivered  from  the  compulsion  of  brute 
force,  but  also  from  the  dominion  of  absolute  prerog- 
ative. Thenceforth  truth  becomes  the  sovereign, 
ruling  jure  divino.  Character  rises  superior  to  title, 
and  society  emerges  into  manhood. 

All  other  forms  of  power  are  now  beginning  to 
yield  before  the  dominion  of  influence.  The  present 
is  rather  a  formative,  than  a  final  state  ;  it  is  as  much 
an  age  of  process,  as  of  result.  It  is  difficult  for  us 
to  become  self-conscious  that  in  respect  of  the  grand 
problems  of  thought,  this  is  a  transitionary  and  not  a 
final  period.  No  doubt  every  age  has  supposed  that 
it  had  attained  that  result  in  the  great,  essential 
truths  of  philosophy,  upon  which  all  the  future  would 
establish  itself:  each  era  of  thought  has  at  the  time 
been  considered  final.  The  Greek,  the  Roman,  the 
Schoolman, . the  Protestant  Reformer,  all  imagined 
that  they  left  nothing  to  be  learned  in  the  way  of 
general  principle.     New  facts  might  be  discovered, 


but  they  would  all  fall  under  the  established  order 
and  arrangement.  And  yet  we  move  forward  in  a 
plane  which  carries  everything  on  pari  passu,  and 
the  old  era  gives  place  to  the  new,  either  with  a 
crash,  as  the  frozen  ocean  broke  up  when  the  warm 
sun  of  the  Reformation  dawned,  or  more  quietly  as 
now.  Truth  is  eternal,  but  man  is  not  infinite  ;  and 
he  can  discern  eternal  truth,  only  as  his  faculty  of 
vision  is  cultured.  The  most  primitive  and  impor- 
tant truths  are  as  subject  to  this  condition  as  any 
other ;  and  perhaps  somewhat  more,  because  of  their 
grandeur  and  simplicity.  For  it  is  not  the  simplest 
truths  which  we  understand  most  readily  and  tho- 
roughly ;  and  it  is  a  blessed  thing  that  we  may  re- 
ceive such  truths  in  their  practical  uses,  without 
understanding  them.  It  is  these  which  tax  our 
intellectual  faculties  most  rigidly ;  and  why  should 
it  not  be  so,  when  we  consider  that  they  are  the 
aliment  upon  which  the  soul  is  to  feed  eternally.  It 
is  no  argument  against  the  stability  and  simplicity 
of  truth,  to  say  that  it  is  revealed  to  us  gradually 
and  by  fragments ;  it  is  only  an  argument  against 
the  completeness  of  our  faculties.  The  world  has 
been  learning,  ever  since  it  was  created  ;  now,  I  ask, 
is  the  lesson  completed,  is  the  task  done,  may  we 
close  our  books,  and  go  to  our  play  ?  Has  the  last 
era  of  thought  passed :  in  ethics  and  philosophy, 
have  we  nothing  more  to  learn  ?  So  a  proud  age 
would  be  glad  to  believe  :  on  the  one  hand,  it  is 
affirmed  that  Pope  Clement,  or  Innocent,  or  Pius, 


8 

has,  by  Divine  commission,  completed  the  code  and 
stamped  it  with  the  fisherman's  seal :  on  the  other, 
that  Luther,  or  Calvin,  or  Cranmer,  by  Divine  illu- 
mination, has  reached  the  end  of  knowledge,  and 
numbered  all  the  degrees  of  doctrine.  Meanwhile, 
both  the  Papal  and  the  Protestant  craft  drift  away 
from  their  old  moorings,  not  by  removing  the  anchor, 
but  by  relaxing  the  cable,  whether,  as  with  the 
former,  the  sails  are  furled,  or  as  with  the  latter,  all 
sail  is  set. 

In  looking  at  the  present  condition  of  society,  we 
observe  that  where  the  light  of  positive  revelation 
has  never  penetrated,  no  nation  has  yet  passed  be- 
yond the  stage  of  adolescence,  few  beyond  that  of 
inflmcy  ;  and  still  further,  in  those  regions,  there  are 
no  existing  symptoms  of  any  natural  tendencies  to- 
wards improvement.  There  is 'not  a  solitary  excep- 
tion to  this  rule  :  for,  wherever  out  of  the  domain  of 
Christendom,  there  is  any  appearance  of  progress,  it 
is  attributable  to  the  fact  that  the  popular  religion 
reflects  to  some  extent  the  principles  of  revelation, 
as  the  purer  parts  of  the  Koran  were  stolen  from 
the  Bible. 

In  all  that  we  now  have  to  say,  we  recognize  an 
inspired  system  of  truth  as  the  base  of  all  true  pro- 
gress ;  furnishing  all  its  elements  and  stimulating  all 
its  activity.  He  who  spake  as  never  man  spake, 
gave  to  our  race  all  the  material  out  of  which  the 
most  complete  condition  of  society  the  world  will 
ever  see,  is  to  be  constructed.     The  fixed  and  abso- 


9 

lute  character  of  Christianity  is,  however,  not  at  all 
inconsistent  with  the  theory  of  gradual,  human  clevel- 
opement,  marked  by  a  succession  of  distinct  epochs ; 
and  the  indications  of  the  times  force  upon  us  the 
conviction  that  we  are  now  verging  towards  a  new 
intellectual  era,  the  characteristics  of  which  will  be 
as  vital  and  important  as  were  those  of  the  Reforma- 
tion. 

Wo  infer  this  from  the  condition  of  practical  art, 
of  theoretic  science,  and  of  abstract  thought.  The 
specific  bearing  of  these  three  species  of  influence, 
we  shall  now  endeavor  to  indicate. 

Those  who  see  only  what  lies  outside  of  them, 
and  care  only  for  material  results,  regard  the  mecha- 
nical improvements  of  the  age  as  the  crown  of  its 
highest  glory.  And  here,  indeed,  there  is  much  to 
excite  our  admiration.  The  wildest  dreams  of  mag-ic 
are  now  reduced  to  practical  reality.  The  old  Genii 
of  Arabia,  if  they  should  re-appear  upon  the  earth, 
would  find  their  occupation  gone.  We  can  build 
lustrous  palaces  of  crystal,  covering  acres,  almost  in 
a  single  night.  We  can  furnish  those  palaces  with 
decorations,  more  varied  and  more  valuable  than 
were  ever  dreamed  of  in  Persian  fable.  Swift  as  the 
wind  we  can  carry  burdens,  under  which  the  old 
Titans  would  have  groaned  with  anguish.  We  can 
send  messages  tliroagh  space  so  rapidly  as  to  put 
back  the  flight  of  time.  We  invoke  the  elements, 
not  by  subtle  charmf^,  but  by  the  compulsion  of 
science,  and  they  become  our  obedient  servants. 

B 


10 

Tlie  physical  results  of  mechanical  invention,  we 
are  at  present  concerned    with,  only  as  they  bear 
upon  the  future  intellectual  and  moral  condition  of 
society.     It  is  not  in  the  fact  that  they  make  our 
clothing  cheaper,  and  food  more  plentiful,  and  jour- 
neying more  expeditious,  and  enlarge  the  sphere  of 
our  sensuous  enjoyments,  that  the  main  significance 
of  these  improvements  consists.     The  gradual  trans- 
ferring to  machinery  of  the  labor  heretofore  wrought 
by  hand,  is  not  intended  by  Providence  to  leave  the 
race  in  idle  enjoyment ;  for  then  a  complete  civiliza- 
tion would  be  only  a  return  to  the  inanity  of  barba- 
rism ;  but  it  provides  for  the  first,  indispensable  con- 
dition of  general  mental  culture,  which  is  that  there 
shall  be  time  for  such  culture.     It  also  involves  the 
second,  important  condition  of  the  general  elevation 
of  humanity,  which  is  a  certain  degree  of  physical 
comfort  in  order  to  the  free  operation  of  the  mind. 
This  last  result  is  at  present  more  palpable  than  the 
former,  for  there  has  never  been  a  time  in  which 
there  was  a  more   general  demand  for  labor  than 
now  ;  but,  in  this  respect,  there  must  come  an  abate- 
ment, and  every  new  machine  is  one  step  towards  it. 
And   after  the   period   arrives,  as  it  certainly  will, 
when  rocks  are  drilled  and  mountains  levelled,  with 
scarcely  an  effort  of  the  human   hand  ;    when  the 
farmer  will  sit  quietly  under  the  shadow  of  the  tree, 
while  his  steam-plough  opens  the  furrow ;  when  the 
only  real  operatives  to  be  found  in  our  factories  will 
be  made  of  wood  and  iron ;  it  cannot  be  that  man  is 


11 

destined  to  relapse  into  the  torpor  of  the  brute,  who 
finds  his  clothing  growing  on  his  back,  and  his  food 
spontaneously  springing  up  by  his  side.  He  will 
still  have  work  to  do ;  and  it  will  pay  him,  not  w^itli 
meats  and  drinks,  but  with  angels'  food. 

So  of  the  strange  and  almost  miraculous  improve- 
ments in  travelling  which  distin":uish  our  ag-e  ;  it  is 
not  of  so  much  consequence  that  we  are  enabled 
thus  to  promote  our  comfort  and  save  time,  unless 
the  time  be  worth  saving.  But  there  are  great, 
moral  results  dependent  upon  these  increasing  facili- 
ties for  locomotion,  which  it  requires  an  effort  ade- 
quately to  comprehend.  The  influences  induced  by 
the  contact  and  fusion  of  different  races  of  men, 
whether  through  emigration  or  conquest,  have  been 
more  conspicuous  and  efficient  than  any  other  agen- 
cies in  the  past  history  of  the  world.  The  invigo ra- 
tion of  tropical  effeminacy  by  the  descent  of  the 
brawny  children  of  the  north,  and  the  refinement  of 
Gothic  barbarism  by  contact  with  the  civilization  of 
the  conquered  foe,  is  the  germ  of  modern  thought 
and  enterprize.  At  the  present  moment,  this  rule 
holds  universally:  those  nations  which  now  exert 
the  widest  influence,  are  all  the  product  of  mixed 
races,  while  those  which  lie  dormant  and  altogether 
unfelt  in  the  world,  are  such  as  have  kept  their  blood 
and  their  thoughts  untainted  by  contact  with  foreign 
admixture.  It  required  the  original  Briton,  the 
Roman,  the-  Saxon,  and  the  Norman,  to  make  the 
modern  Englishman  :  what  result  is  to  be  evolved  in 


12 

our  land,  Avbere  it  is  evident  that  every  European 
race  will  combine  and  coalesce,-^ what  the  future 
American  is  to  be.  will  be  seen  hereafter.  The 
fusion  of  races  has  heretofore  been  produced  mainly 
through  the  stern  processes  of  war :  hereafter  this 
result,  so  essential  to  the  general  welfare  of  humanity, 
will  flow  from  science,  comm.erce,  and  peaceful  colo- 
nization. 

Ago  in,  practical  science  is  gradually  removing 
certain  great  evils,  once  thought  inevitable,  and 
which  were  actually  indispensable,  to  save  man 
from  greater  evils.  In  the  earlier  stages  of  society, 
war  was  supposed  to  be  the  natural  employment  of 
the  race ;  and,  as  we  have  already  intimated,  it  has 
been  one  of  the  most  prominent  agents  in  shaping 
the  destiny  of  the  world.  But,  for  all  the  good  that 
it  does,  it  demands  a  terrible  price  :  in  all  respects, 
it  is  the  most  costly  benefactor  we  could,  employ. 
It  always  seems,  at  the  time,  to  take  more  than  it 
gives ;  and  its  trumpet-blast,  which  perhaps  may 
herald  a  resurrection,  sounds  like  the  doom  of  the 
world.  In  the  progress  of  things,  it  becomes  evil, 
and  only  evil.  Humanity  cries  out  against  it ;  social 
finance  cyphers  out  a  balance  against  it ;  merchants 
trembling  for  their  gains  f)rotest  against  it ;  morality 
on  a  loftier  key  denounces  it ;  and  then  science 
comes  forward,  to  make  it  impossible.  She  does 
this,  by  reducing  the  art  of  war  to  a  simple  process 
of  calculation,  so  that  it  can  be  worked  out  on  paper, 
instead  of  being  fought  out  by  brute  strength.     Our 


13 

restricted  limits  forbid  us  from  attempting  to  describe 
the  important  bearings  of  universal  peace  upon  the 
general  culture  of  thought  and  the  social  elevation 
of  the  race. 

Another  result  of  practical  science  is,  that  it  opens 
the  way  for  healthy  rivalries  amongst  the  nations  of 
the  earth,  thus  superseding  those  which  are  unhealthy 
and  destructive.  At  this  hour,  there  is  a  conclave 
in  session  in  the  grand  metrojiolis  of  the  world,  more 
indicative  and  influential,  than  any  which  ever  met 
in  solemn  stnte  to  feed  the  pride  of  kings,  or  satisfy 
the  greed  of  polemics.  It  is  the  oecumenical  council 
of  art :  it  is  a  great  thought  made  tangible,  and  does 
more  honor  to  the  Prince  who  conceived  it,  than  if 
he  had  subjugated  by  arms  every  nation  that  is  there 
represented.  It  is  well  styled  an  Exposition ;  and  it 
is  a  Prophecy  too.  It  indicates  the  future,  as  well 
as  interprets  the  present.  It  is  the  first  in  a  great 
series  of  such  expositions,  in  which  men  of' all  kin- 
dreds and  tongues  and  languages  will  come  together, 
not  to  kill  each  other,  or  anathematise  each  other, 
but  each  to  learn  of  all  the  rest  and  carry  home  the 
general  product.  America  will  have  her  exposition  ; 
and  we  may  all  meet  again  in  old  Bagdad,  whither 
the  tribes  once  went  up,  in  the  days  of  oriental  glory. 

The  progress  of  physical  science,  in  its  speculative 
form,  has  an  important  bearing  upon  the  intellectual 
indications  of  the  age.  This  species  of  study  has 
been  considered  antagonistic  to  that  which  is  OBsthe- 
tic  and  spiritual.     Men   of  science  have  been  too 


14 

generally  liable  to  the  charge  of  indifference  and 
even  hostility  to  those  truths  which  bear  upon  the 
condition  of  the  soul ;  while  the  theologian  has  been 
ignorant  and  therefore  careless  of  the  facts  of  science. 
The  effort  which  has  now  been  commenced  to  har- 
monize the  unquestionable  verities  of  both,  is  one  of 
the  most  profound  indications  of  the  times. 

Science,  when  it  knew  but  little,  was  proud,  confi- 
dent and  skeptical ;  and  often  aimed  her  shafts 
against  that  which  is  most  precious  and  vital  to  the 
simple  believer.  She  arrayed  the  facts  of  nature 
against  the  doctrines  of  revelation,  even  against  the 
intuitive  aspirations  of  the  soul,  and  dismissed  Provi- 
dence from  the  universe.  Phenomena  which  had 
been  attributed  to  the  direct  intervention  of  Supreme 
Power,  she  resolved  into  the  workings  of  law ;  and 
the  timid  trembled  for  their  faith,  forgetting  that  a 
law  is  not  a  final  cause.  Had  science  then  retreated, 
fliith  might  seem  to  have  triumphed  ;  but  it  would 
have  been  a  perilous  victory.  It  is  not,  however,  in 
science,  which  lives  only  by  induction,  or  on-going, 
to  retreat ;  and  as  she  advances,  the  apparent  antag- 
onisms are  gradually  reconciled,  and  faith  takes 
courage.  Science,  indeed,  reveals  many  difficulties ; 
but  in  time  she  may  detect  their  solution.  Because 
she  begins  to  advance  in  certain  directions,  where  it 
had  been  supposed  no  progress  could  be  made,  it  is 
at  first  imagined  that  she  can  thus  proceed  without 
limit ;  but  in  this  very  onward  movement  she  detects 
at  last  the  termini,  beyond  which,  by  her  own  demon- 


15 

stration,  no  further  progress  can  be  made ;  and  then 
faith  resumes  the  seeptre  again,  to  reign  more  abso- 
lutely and  intelligently  than  before.     In  the  begin- 
ning, science  aims  a  death-blow  at  dogmas,  which  she 
ends  with  vindicating  against  the  possibilit}^  of  cavil. 
She  brings  a  limited  array  of  facts  to  disprove  great 
truths  upon  which  the  soul  of  man  had  for  ages  re- 
posed ;  and  then,  when  she  has  multiplied  her  facts,  it 
is  found  that  they  all  combine  to  confirm  these  very 
truths.     She  discloses  facts  which  look  so  mucli  like 
freaks  of  nature,  the  blind  play  of  frivolous  chance, 
that  our  confidence  in  the  method  and  wisdom  of 
Providence  is  disturbed  ;  and  then  she  finds  out  other 
facts,  which  reduce  them  all  within  the  range  of  a 
complete    and    most    beautiful   arrangement.       She 
shows  us,  for  instance,  that  the  tiny  drop  of  water 
holds  a  multitude  of  living  beings,  glistening  with 
gold  and  vermillion,  all  invisible  to  the  naked  eye ; 
that  the   lump  of  silicious  cla}''  is  an  aggregate  of 
flinty  shields,  once  the  armor  of  a  living  creature, 
exquisitely  marked  with  their  generic  devices,  by 
which  these  minute  organisms  may  be  classified  into 
their  species ;  and  the  mind  which  always  craves  to 
know  the  use  of  things,  asks  painfully,  why  has  so 
much  beauty  and  skill  been  lavished  upon  such  crea- 
tures as  these?  What  place  do  they  hold  in  the  great 
order  of  nature?  We  had  supposed  it  to  be  a  univer- 
sal law,  that  the  lesser  always  serve  the   greater : 
what  relation  has  this  invisible  world  to  the  visible  ? 
Science  at  last  detects  the  answer,  and  shows  us  that 


16 
the  very  existence  of  this  great  earth  is  dependant 
upon  these  its  most  insignificant  inhabitants :  that, 
in  process  of  time,  the  globe  would  become  resolved 
into  attenuated  air,  were  it  not  that  the  gaseous  par- 
ticles, into  which  the  solid  structure  is  continually 
dissolving,  are  arrested  and  transformed  into  the 
myriad  animalculce  which  swarm  the  sea  and  the 
dry  land,  returning  to  the  earth  in  their  decay  and 
ajjsorption  all  the  substance  it  had  lost ;  the  very 
rocks  becoming  disintegrated  and  exhaled,  then 
enternig  into  the  organisms  of  life,  thus  rescued 
again  and  restored  to  their  original  condition.  From 
this,  we  learn  a  lesson  of  Divine  wisdom,  which 
strengthens  our  faith,  and  bows  down  the   soul  in 


reverence 


It  is  not  only  true  that  there  is  now  the  beginning 
of  a  reconciliation  between  physical  and  spiritual 
science,  the  induction  of  facts  serving  to  verify  that 
which  previously  rested  either  upon  intuition  or 
revelation,  but  we  still  further  observe  that  the 
process  of  thought  which  science  makes  inevitable, 
also  serves  as  a  corrective  and  restraint  to  those 
who  dwell  in  the  more  abstract  region  of  thought 
and  h-peculation.  Here,  again,  in  the  beginning, 
there  is  the  appearance  of  antagonism ;  the  man, 
who  deah-  only  with  facts  and  phenomeiia  lying  out- 
side of  him,  may  insist  upon  the  application  of  the 
same  laws  and  processes  to  the  solution  of  spiritual 
problems,  by  which  he  measures  the  forces  of  nature 
and  analyses  her  material.     He  calls  for  the  ?ame 


17 

distinct  and  orderly  classification,  for  the  same  spe- 
cies of  demonstration,  for  the  same  harmony  of  dis- 
cordances, for  the  same  sharp-lined  logic,  for  the  same 
fixed  and  unalterable  conclusions.  In  all  which  he 
ignores  the  subject-matter  with  which  he  has  to  deal, 
and  has  only  to  carry  out  his  effort,  to  comprehend 
spiritual  things  within  the  laws  of  matter,  far  enough, 
and  he  will  detect  his  error.  He  will  find  'that  here 
his  premises  change  with  his  stand-point ;  these 
higher  truths  of  the  soul  varying  their  angles  and 
shifting  their  hues,  as  he  moves  around  them ;  that 
the  moral  qualities  of  these  truths  are  so  blended  that 
no  prism  can  resolve  them  into  distinct  and  separate 
rays ;  that  the  laws  of  rigid  logic  break  down  under 
the  effort  to  enclose  and  limit  spiritual  things ;  that 
the  terminolog}^  of  moral  science  is  unlike  that  of 
physical  science,  and  cannot  have  the  same  fixed- 
ness and  certainty ;  that  the  same  words  convey  dif- 
ferent meanings  to  difl;erent  minds ;  that  the  real 
thought  which  they  represent  varies  according  to 
the  condition  of  the  soul  to  which  it  is  addressed ; 
and  so  the  highest  propositions  with  which  we  have 
to  deal  cannot  be  illustrated  by  diagrams  or  resolved 
by  arithmetic.  Science  may  measure  the  distance 
of  the  stars  and  weigh  them  in  its  balance ;  but  it 
has  no  instruments  by  which  it  can  define  the  orbit 
of  spiritual  truth,  and  gnage  the  dimensions  of  bodies 
revolving  there. 

But  while  it  is  learning  this  lesson,  which  it  is  cer- 
tain to  do  if  its  progress  be  not  checked  by  its  own 


18 

pride  or  by  tlie  fears  of  the  believer,  it  also  renders 
some  service  to  the  party  with  whom  it  seems  to  be 
in  collision. 

There  was  a  time  when  the  citadel  of  theology 
stood  impregnable  ;  the  warder  on  the  watch-tower 
looked  out  at  even-tide  and  saw  no  hostile  banner, 
heard  no  sound  but  the  low  wailing  of  the  breeze  as 
it  swept  over  the  level  moor  that  stretched  in  dreary 
solitude  to  the  horizon.  The  old  towers  grew  gray, 
and  the  draw-bridge  rusted  in  its  socket,  and  swords 
and  shields  hung  upon  the  walls  unused,  and  the  de- 
fenders of  the  faith  dozed  quietly  in  shady  nooks,  or 
occasionally  refreshed  themselves  with  some  harm- 
less, domestic  tournament,  in  which  they  fought  with 
laths  and  defended  their  heads  with  osiers.  The  few 
rebellious  spirits,  who  might  incline  to  give  them 
trouble,  lay  chained  in  subterranean  dungeons,  where 
their  energies  were  carefully  reduced  by  judicious 
diet  and  depletion.  Meanwhile,  for  want  of  care, 
the  ancient  walls  began  to  crumble,  and  the  founda- 
tions grew  insecure,  so  that  at  last  some  of  the  poor 
prisoners  below  saw  day-light  gleaming  through  the 
stones  and  lifted  up  their  heads  in  hope.  And  soon 
the  level  moor,  which  for  ages  had  slept  so  solitary, 
bristled  with  anned  men :  science  and  theology, 
ignorant  of  their  real  brotherhood,  now  stood  arrayed 
in  battle.  For  a  time  it  seemed  to  be  a  desperate 
case  with  the  defenders  of  the  faith,  for  the  old 
weapons  which  they  used  could  poorly  cope  with 
the    improved    artillery    of  modern    science.      The 


19 

three-angled  syllogisms,  which  they  hurled  from  the 
walls,  broke  in  the  air  and  fell  innocuous.  The  Aris- 
totelian arrows,  which  they  shot  with  vigorous  arm, 
rebounded  and  wounded  themselves.  They  found 
that  they  must  have  more  efficient  armor  ;  and  the 
enemy  helped  them  to  the  pattern. 

Science  has  taught  theology  to  be  somewhat  less 
dogmatic,  and  more  analytic  :  to  rely  less  upon  unau- 
thenticated  authority,  and  to  verify  its  assertions 
more  carefully :  in  all  which  it  will  be  seen  in  the 
end  to  have  done  a  sound  theology  no  harm. 

The  infallible  dogmas  of  the  dark  ages  are  in  some 
quarters  as  pertinaciously  affirmed  as  ever ;  but  they 
are  now  defended  bv  modes  of  ar<i;ument  which 
would  once  have  conducted  the  orthodox  disputant 
to  the  stake.  The  processes  of  thought,  which 
science  makes  inevitable,  compel  us  to  admissions 
which  are  fatal  to  our  dogmas  if  essentially  unsound; 
and  may  oblige  us  to  re-construct  them,  even  if  essen- 
tially true. 

For  there  is  no  truth  which  is  not  affected  by  the 
prevailing  laws  of  thought ;  inasmuch  as  nothing  be- 
comes a  truth  to  us,  except  through  the  processes  of 
thouo;ht.  The  abstract  truth  is  a  fixed  and  real 
entity,  not  at  at  all  dependent  for  its  existence  upon 
our  discerning  it ;  just  as  the  world  with  all  its  glori- 
ous prospects  exists  as  really  in  the  blackest  mid- 
night as  it  does  in  the  clearest  noonday ;  but  we  see 
it  according  to  the  condition  of  the  atmosphere. 


20 

Now  in  turning  the  age  backward,  it  is  easy  enough 
to  see  how  the  progress  of  science  has  affected  the 
dogmatic  opinions  of  former  ages ;  but  it  is  more  dif- 
ficult to  perceive  its  actual  effect  upon  our  own  opin- 
ions to-day.  An  age  is  rarely  self-conscious  of  the 
most  vital,  intellectual  changes  through  which  it  is 
passing.  We  see  that  the  shadow  upon  the  dial-plate 
has  moved  since  the  morning,  but  we  do  not  see  it 
move:  it  moves, however, none  the  less  certainly  for 
all  that.  God  made  the  earth  to  revolve,  and  to  carry 
every  thing  with  it  in  its  revolution :  He  made  our 
minds  to  be  active,  and  activity  supposes — no  change 
in  truth,  the  sun  stands  still — but  eternal  progress  in 
the  discernment  of  truth.  "I  count  not  myself  to 
have  apprehended,"  said  a  great  Apostle :  weaker 
men  than  he,  and  men  blessed  with  no  special  insj^i- 
ration,  have  said,  "  T  count  myself  to  have  appre- 
hended," and  so  they  cease  to  use  their  faculties,  and 
retire  upon  their  capital. 

We  have  thus  imperceptibly  glided  into  the  more 
direct  consideration  of  the  existins;  conditions  of 
abstract  thought.  And  here  we  may  remark,  there 
never  was  a  time  when  a  real  thought  had  such 
general  formative  power  as  now.  In  ancient  days, 
there  were  men  shut  up  in  cloisters  who,  in  their 
solitude,  were  visited  by  grand  conceptions,  and  they 
eliminated  great  thoughts,  which  if  the  world  had 
only  known,  they  would  not  willingly  have  let  die. 
But  there  was  no  medium  of  communication  between 
these    solitary    cells  vnd    the    world    without:     the 


21 

thought  conceived  could  not  be  uttered,  and  so  it 
was  buried  with  its  author. 

Now,  the  thpught  immediately  becomes  a  word, 
and  that  word,  spoken  or  written,  almost  instantly 
attains  a  universal  presence,  flying  faster  than  the 
wind  ;  and  if  it  have  true  vitality,  it  becomes  re-pro- 
ductive every  where,  bearing  fruit  after  its  kind  :  it 
quickens  other  thoughts,  and  shapes  their  form ;  it 
modifies  opinion,  influences  action,  changes  usage, 
and  so  enters  into  all  the  outward  processes  of  social 
life.  For  a  real  thought  is  the  most  real  of  all  things ; 
it  has  more  power  than  any  other  thing ;  it  outlasts 
all  other  things ;  man  is  only  what  his  thought  makes 
him,  his  destiny  is  only  what  his  thought  makes  it, 
and  all  which  he  does  with  his  hands  is  only  the 
giving  form  to  what  his  thought  created.  Men  of 
action,  as  they  are  called,  sometimes  look  disdain- 
fully upon  those  who  give  themselves  up  to  mere 
thought ;  whereas  thought  is  action,  in  its  highest 
and  truest  form:  wood  and  iron,  properly  adjusted 
and  impelled,  can  do  no  more  in  the  way  of  exterior 
activity  than  man  can  do  by  the  tightest  straining  of 
his  muscles  :  but  wood  and  iron  cannot  think,  and 
therefore  they  actually  do  nothing. 

There  are  some  styles  of  thought,  now  in  opera- 
tion, which  are  destined  to  exert  a  powerful  and 
permanent  influence  upon  the  general  condition  of 
society.  We  have  seen  how  the  practical  results  of 
art  are  preparing  the  way  for  a  rapid  and  wide  diffu- 
sion of  some  species  of  influence ;  we  have  seen  how 


22 

speculative  science  is  modifying  the  processes  of 
thought,  not  only  opening  new  channels  for  its  flow, 
but  also  throwing  up  banks  along  the  margin  of  an- 
cient currents  of  thought,  to  regulate  their  move- 
ment:  now  we  come  to  our  main  question, — What 
is  the  style  of  thought,  from  which  the  greatest  re- 
sults are  to  be  expected  ? 

It  may  seem  as  though  we  were  opening  our 
answer  with  a  very  obvious  truism,  when  we  say 
that  the  thought  which  impresses  itself  upon  society, 
must  be  real,  and  not  fictitious.  And  yet  when  we 
consider  how  much  is  uttered,  the  whole  merit  of 
which  consists  in  the  collocation  of  well-sounding 
words,  and  the  arrangement  of  certain  stale  beauties 
of  diction,  and  the  more  or  less  vigorous  repetition 
of  old  formulas — dried  preparations,  which  once  per- 
haps had  pliancy  and  greenness — and  how  much  is 
expected  from  this  species  of  effort;  in  any  case,  how 
highly  it  is  praised  for  its  soundness  and  "  tried  ex- 
cellence :"  when  we  consider  how  large  a  business 
some  great  men  do  upon  a  very  small  capital,  and 
that  perhaps  borrowed  from  others  who  could  poorly 
afford  to  make  the  loan ;  when  we  consider  how  ex- 
tensively words  are  used  as  the  substitute  for  thought, 
and  how  reluctant  many  men  are  to  give  him  a  fair 
hearing  who  brings  any  thing  to  their  notice  which 
is  not  already  familiar  and  patent  to  the  whole  world ; 
it  might  appear  as  though  it  were  the  popular  verdict 
that  the  last  problem  had  been  solved,  the  progress 
of  real  thought  may  now  be  stayed,  and  the  mind 


23 
sink  to  its  repose.  The  business  of  making  sentences, 
weaving  the  old,  common  stock  of  thought  into  new 
patterns,  may  be  harmless  enough  and  in  some  quar- 
ters popular  enough,  although  nothing  is  produced 
but  flimsy  and  fantastic  webs :  but  after  all,  this  is 
not  the  work  which  the  age  demands  of  us.  There 
are  not  a  few,  who  will  ask,  when  we  come  professing 
to  instruct  them,  what  substantial  truth  have  you  to 
give  us  ?  AYhat  do  your  words  signify  ?  Do  you  your- 
self comprehend  what  you  say  ?  Is  what  you  utter 
that  which  you  have  found  to  be  true  in  your  own 
inward  experience,  or  is  it  merely  what  has  been 
told  you  by  others,  and  do  you  state  it  only  upon 
their  warrant  ?  Have  you  any  personal  right  in  the 
truths  which  you  utter?  Do  you  know  that  they 
mean  any  thing  ?  The  man  who  cannot  answer  these 
questions  in  the  affirmative,  may  win  for  himself  a 
temporary  reputation,  because  he  may  be  artful  in 
the  use  of  words ;  but  he  really  dies  with  the  sound 
he  utters.  The  world  take  no  knowledge  of  him, 
after  the  noise  is  over.  He  was  a  pleasant  instru- 
ment and  discoursed  sweet  music ;  but  he  was  only 
an  instrument.  Or  rather,  he  is  a  conduit,  through 
which  other  .men's  thoughts  flow ;  it  is  found  out, 
after  a  while,  that  purer  water  may  be  had  at  the 
fountain,  and  then  he  is  dispensed  with  and  put  aside 
as  an  inconvenience.  This  must  be  the  fate  of  all 
who  are  of  no  real  value.  Poets  and  orators,  inflated 
to  unnatural  size  by  the  breath  of  other  men's 
thoughts,   must    soon    collapse    and    wither    away. 


24 
They  seem  to  fill  a.  large  space,  while  they  live  ;  but 
when  they  die,  a  very  small  grave  will  hold   them 
and  their  works,  which    immediately   follow  them, 
when  they  rest  from  their  unserviceable  labors. 

It  was  the  custom  of  the  old  New-England  divines 
to  estimate  men,  "  according  to  the  amount  of  being 
that  is  in  them :"  the  phraseology  well  expresses 
what  we  mean  by  real  thought,  —  it  is  the  amount 
of  being;:  in  the  thouQ-ht  which  determines  its  amount 
of  influence.  Every  new  thought  at  first  comes  to 
us  as  a  stranger,  and  must  be  questioned  and  tested, 
before  it  can  be  allowed  the  freedom  of  the  land, 
and  it  is  very  certain  to  be  rudely  treated  by  those 
who  regard  every  new  comer  as  an  imjjostor ;  but  if 
the  thought  be  a  fact  and  not  a  fiction,  if  it  have  a 
good  share  of  actual  being,  it  w^ill  find  entertainment 
and  a  home. 

A  real  thought  is  that  which  is  generated  by  some 
real  mental  process ;  and  by  one  test  it  may  be  dis- 
tinguished from  the  mere  show  or  shadow  of  thought, 
it  quickens  the  mind  upon  which  it  falls,  generates 
there  other  thoughts,  and  thus  perpetuates  itself  in 
an  unlimited  progeny.  We  may  admire  words, 
which  convey  no  such  living  influence,  we  may  won- 
der at  the  art  by  which  they  are  so  ingeniously  con- 
structed :  but  they  stir  no  new  pulsation  of  the  soul; 
while,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  possible  that  the  most 
abstract  thought,  clothed  in  the  most  naked  language, 
may  warm  the  blood  like  a  war-trumpet.  There  are 
minds,  whose  touch  is  electric,  it  is  an  era  in  exist- 


25 
dice  when  we  first  come  within  reach  of  their  power, 
they  introduce  us  into  new  worlds,  they  clothe  the 
heavens  with  brighter  drapery,  they  give  strength  to 
our  feeble  knees,  and  brace  our  vacillating  will,  and 
clarify  our  vision,  and  sanctify  our  depraved  affec- 
tions, and  make  us  better,  as  we  become  wiser  men. 
At  the  breath  of  their  words,  the  cords  of  the  soul 
give  out  unwonted  music,  thought  swells  into  the 
melody  of  emotion,  becomes  transmuted  into  feeling, 
and  the  whole  intellectual  being  trembles  under  the 
enchantment.  Problems,  which  distracted  and  ago- 
nized us,  assume  a  clear  and  lustrous  meaning  :  the 
mind  enlarges  its  boundaries,  encloses  what  was  once 
foreign,  harmonizes  what  was  once  discordant,  grap- 
ples with  difficulties  which  it  once  feared  to  encoun- 
ter, and  settles  down  at  last  immoveably  upon  the 
eternal  foundations  of  absolute  truth. 

It  is  the  men  who  produce  these  effects  that  are 
to  shape  the  thoughts  of  other  men  and  so  control 
the  destinies  of  the  race. 

We  next  remark,  that  the  most  influential  style 
of  thought,  now  current,  is  that  which  is  inclusive 
and  comprehensive,  and  not  that  which  is  bounded 
off  by  the  rigid  lines  of  party  exclusiveness.  It  is 
indeed  true,  that  schools  and.  parties  in  philosophy, 
theology  and  every  thing  else,  were  never  more 
numerous  or  belligerent  than  now.  Nothing  goes 
unchallenged.  No  absurdity  so  crude  but  some  will 
be  found  to  affirm  it :  no  truth  so  solemn  but  some 
will  be  found  to  deny  it.     The  collision  and  attrition 


26 

of  different  substances  generates  uncomfortable  heat, 
and  yet  this  very  heat  may  produce  a  fusion  of  those 
substances.  There  are  some  phenomena  attendant 
upon  the  discussions  of  the  day,  which  indicate  the 
possibility  of  such  a  result.  Those  primary  questions 
which  lie  at  the  base  of  all  intellectual  differences, 
are  more  carefully  scrutinized  than  formerly ;  such 
as,  the  relation  of  language  to  thought ;  the  plastic 
and  changing  character  of  words  ;  the  influence  of 
temperament  upon  opinion ;  the  fact  that  the  same 
truth  is  seen  in  a  variety  of  aspects,  according  to  the 
angle  from  which  it  is  viewed ;  the  impossibility  of 
exhausting  the  whole  meaning  of  any  great  truth  by 
any  dogmatic  definitions  in  which  we  endeavor  tO' 
enclose  it ;  the  necessity  of  adjusting  our  modes  of 
argument  to  the  subjeot-matter  with  which  we  have 
to  deal  J  these,  and  such  like  points,  cannot  be  can- 
didly considered  without  materially  affecting  all  sys- 
tems of  opinion.  And,  in  the  moment  that  men  of 
different  names  and  parties  are  more  anxious  to  dis- 
cover points  of  agreement  than  of  difference,  and 
are  willing  to  substitute  intelligent  definition  for 
vague  and  savage  protest,  the  world  may  begin  to 
hope  for  peace. 

Now  there  are  men  who,  in  the  spirit  of  a  gener- 
ous eclecticism,  are  engaged  in  gathering  up  the 
products  of  past  thought  and  in  the  comparison  of 
contending  dogmas,  to  see  if  there  be  any  ground  of 
reconciliation.  Starting  with  the  presumption  that 
no   merely   human   systems  are  infallible,  and   few 


27 
entirely  false,  it  is  o])serve(l  that  the  most  discordant 
schools  in  time  gravitate  towards  each  other,  in  vir- 
tue of  the  mutual  attraction  of  those  essential  truths 
which  they  hold  in  common. 

It  is  observed  that  no  merely  human  system  has 
held  to  its  moorings  through  any  number  of  succes- 
sive centuries  ;  that  human  interpretations  of  divine 
truth  change  with  the  fluctuations  of  philosophy,  so 
that  even  the  infallibility  of  Rome  is  not  the  same 
infallibility  that  it  was  a  thousand  years  ago,  and  the 
Calvinism  of  the  day  is  not  the  exact  Calvinism  of 
the  Reformation. 

We  do  not  mean  to  say  that  those  men  are  most 
likely  to  leave  their  mark  upon  society,  who,  looking 
at  the  history  of  opinions  in  this  respect,  jump  to  the 
conclusion,  that  all  systems  are  alike  true  and  alike 
false,  and  so  settle  down  upon  the  principle  of  indif- 
ference. To  say  that  one  thing  is  as  good  as  another, 
is  to  say  that  nothing  is  really  good  for  any  thing. 
Where  systems  palpably  contradict  each  other,  it  is 
evidence  that  there  is  something  wrong  in  one,  if 
there  be  any  thing  right  in  the  other.  That  pseudo- 
eclecticism  which  devours  every  thing  and  digests 
nothing,  gives  no  nourishment  to  the  soul.  A  true 
comprehensiveness  does  not  include  absurdities  and 
lies  in  the  same  bundle  with  truths,  but  it  discrimi- 
nates between  truth  and  error  every  where,  and 
rejects  the  lie  even  when  it  is  found  in  the  best 
company.  It  may  even  seem  to  be  more  rigid  than 
any  other  mode  of  thought,  as  in  fact  it  is,  because 


28 

it  applies  its  poison-test  indiscriminately,  and  will 
not  allow  the  fairest  show  of  good  to  pass  unques- 
tioned. It  seems  to  be  liberal,  because  it  gives  the 
suspected  system,  arraigned  for  error,  a  fair  hearing, 
while  in  this  it  is  only  just. 

The  current  philosophy  of  the  age  is,  in  a  measure, 
the  result  of  contending  systems :  induction  and  iur 
tuition,  idealism  and  realism,  physiology  and  psycho- 
logy, have  fought  their  battles,  and  the  end  has  been 
a  compromise,  as  it  must  of  necessity  be ;  because, 
while  each  is  vulnerable,  each  is  also  in  some  respects 
invincible.  True  eclecticism  was  not  possible,  until 
these  collisions  had  occurred ;  it  is  not  yet  altogether 
possible,  because  the  contest  is  not  yet  over.  But 
the  day  begins  to  dawn,  and  those  men  will  have  the 
advantage  of  us,  who  are  up  early  in  the  morning  to 
see  the  day-break.  It  is  their  voice  we  shall  hear 
sounding  from  the  mountain-top,  when  the  cry  comes 
up  fi'om  the  vallej^s,  "Watchmen,  what  of  the  night  ?" 
They  wait  for  the  light,  and  wait  with  their  eyes 
open ;  and  they  will  have  much  to  tell  the  rest  of 
the  world,  who  slumber  till  the  meridian. 

We  may  next  remark,  more  generally,  that  the 
style  of  thought  which  is  to  be  felt,  must  accord  with 
the  life  of  the  age.  We  have  seen  how  science  fur* 
rows  out  channels,  in  which  it  compels  the  current 
of  speculation  to  flow.  By  mechanical  contrivances, 
the  stream  may  for  a  while  be  made  to  run  in  other 
directions  ;  but  men  will  soon  tire  of  working  these 
machines. 


29 
This,  however,  is  not  all.  There  is  also  a  certain 
species  of  thought,  the  inevitable  result  of  what  may 
be  called  the  atmospheric  influences  of  the  age,  which 
exists  almost  every  where  in  a  latent  form ;  and  the 
man  who  gives  embodiment  to  this  thought,  thus 
brino-inn'  it  within  the  rauo-e  of  consciousness  and 
observation,  is  he  who  most  effectually  moves  us. 
To  re-produce  what  has  been  produced  before  and 
done  its  work ;  to  re-argue  questions,  which  have 
been  already  disposed  of,  or  proved  to  be  incapable 
of  solution  ;  to  revive  speculations,  which  have  no 
bearing  upon  any  existing  necessity ;  is  only  to  re- 
plant  a  tree  whose  roots  are  dead.  Here  and  there 
minds  are  found,  born  out  of  due  time,  who  live  en- 
tirely in  the  past.  Their  constant  cry  is,  "learn  of 
the  past !"  but  the}^  will  not  allow  us  to  read  the 
lesson  through,  and  reduce  it  to  any  practical  pur- 
pose. A  strange  sight  is  revealed  in  this  nineteenth 
century.  There  may  be  seen  a  company  of  men,  in 
antique  attire,  marching  doggedly  back  into  the 
marshes  of  the  middle  ages,  to  pitch  their  tents  in 
that  uncertain  soil,  which  no  drainage  can  render 
habitable.  Manners  and  morals,  dogmas  and  institu- 
tions, which  belonged  to  the  infancy  of  society,  they 
would  engraft  upon  its  maturity.  We  are  called  to 
sit  ■  down  and  play  with  toys,  and  lisp  our  words 
lamely,  that  thus  we  may  revive  the  purity  and  sim- 
plicity of  childhood.  AVe  must  believe  once  more  in 
hobgoblins,  to  restore  the  supremacy  of  faith  over 
reason.     The  world  has  little  to  apprehend  from  that 


30 
quarter.     These    self-sacrificing   men   throw    them- 
selves into  the  stream,  to  arrest  its  onward  current ; 
which  meeting  with  this  obstruction,  only  whirls  for 
a  moment  and  gurgles,  and  then  Hows  on  as  before. 

But  this  sad  caricature  must  not  be  allowed  to 
bring  true  conservatism  and  intelligent  reverence 
for  the  past  into  disrepute.  There  is  a  conservative 
instinct  which  belongs  to  the  age,  as  much  as  does 
the  spirit  of  progress.  It  never  was  more  needed 
than  now ;  for  a  heavy  balance  wheel  is  indispensa- 
ble, when  the  machine  moves  rapidly. 

True  conservatism  and  true  progress  differ  mainly 
in  this :  the  former  looks  round  to  see  how  it  can 
invest  the  treasure  which  it  inherits  from  the  past 
most  safely,  the  latter  to  see  how  that  treasure  may 
be  invested  most  profitably.  The  one  is  content  to 
bequeath  to  posterity  only  what  it  has  received  from 
antiquity;  the  other  would  transmit  it  to  his  chil- 
dren with  usury.  Now  in  seeking  for  large  gains, 
we  are  always  in  danger  of  losing  our  capital ;  and 
the  caution  of  conservatism  is  needed  to  make  us 
vigilant. 

There  is  a  destructive  school  of  reformers,  who 
would  pull  down  comfortable  mansions,  because  their 
original  plan  was  not  perfect,  and  build  anew,  even 
though  the  family  meanwhile  go  houseless :  the  con- 
servative stands  by  to  plead  for  shelter,  and  so  that 
that  he  only  allow  of  gradual  and  necessary  repair, 
he  does  a  good  work.  We  have  radicals  at  either 
pole ;  but  neither  represent  the  great,  leading  ten- 


31 

dcneies  of  thought.  The  moderates  will  have  the 
day.  Obliged  by  their  principles  to  balance  oppo- 
sites,  they  may  seem  to  falter,  while  others  rush  by 
them ;  but  they  pause,  only  to  gird  their  loins. 

When,  therefore,  we  affirm  that  the  thoughts  which 
are  to  move  the  world,  must  run  in  the  grooves  of 
the  age,  we  do  not  give  our  verdict  in  favor  either 
of  a  reckless  progress,  or  of  an  effete  conservatism. 
We  only  say  that  there  are  modes  of  thought  and 
subjects  of  thought,  peculiar  to  our  own  times,  which 
must  be  regarded  by  him  who  would  exert  his  powers 
to  any  great  purpose.  These  modes  and  subjects  are 
neither  divorced  from  the  past,  nor  shut  off  from  the 
future.  They  direct  themselves  to  the  real  necessi- 
ties of  living  men  ;  to  the  solution  of  moral  problems 
which  distract  their  minds,  to  the  relief  of  physical 
evils  which  torture  their  bodies.  The  popular  inte- 
rest in  questions  that  once  absorbed  attention,  when 
it  was  supposed  that  the  endurance  of  evil  and  blind 
submission  to  dogma  was  the  chief  end  of  man,  is 
dying  out,  and  no  possible  effort  can  revive  it.  The 
general  tone  of  that  species  of  literature  which  the 
mass  of  men  read,  proves  that  it  is  so.  General 
councils  to  settle  the  forms  of  doctrine  have  ceased 
to  meet;  but  we  have  council  upon  council,  and 
decree  upon  decree,  foolish  and  wise,  aiming  at  the 
amelioration  of  humanity.  At  such  a  time  as  this, 
it  is  natural  that  we  should  fear  lest  the  old  founda- 
tions of  truth  should  be  removed ;  but  it  will  not 
suffice  that  we  more  vociferously  reiterate  our  for- 


32 

mulas,  we  must  evolve  the  exact  truth  which  these 
embody  and  show  men  that  they  cannot  live  with- 
out it.  We  must  define  our  terms,  listen  patiently 
to  objections,  and  waive  incongruous  argument. 
Vigorous  attack  must  be  met  with  vigorous  defence  : 
not  with  cries  and  wailings.  The  friends  of  truth 
must  show  themselves  able  foes  to  error;  or  their 
friendship  may  cost  the  truth  more  than  it  is  worth. 
The  law  of  adaptation  must  be  regarded,  if  we  would 
do  the  good  cause  any  service.  We  must  remember 
that  the  modes  of  warfare  have  changed :  the  old 
battering-ram,  worked  by  a  thousand  men,  was  a  less 
dangerous  engine  than  the  modern  shell,  which  as 
though  self-propelled,  sails  so  quietly  through  the 
air  and  lays  itself  within  the  trenches.  Science  is 
the  great  foe  to  faith ;  faith  must  enlist  science  in 
her  service,  to  repel  that  foe.  The  battle  is  not  al- 
ways to  the  strong,  for  there  is  a  Divinity  above  who 
sometimes  vindicates  his  own  cause  by  super-human 
means :  but  that  Divinity  would  have  us  use  what- 
ever strength  we  have,  and  not  imagine  that  indo- 
lence is  trust.  The  ablest  logic,  the  profoundest 
learning,  the  keenest  wit,  are  all  now  in  demand  ;  for 
logic  and  learning  and  wit  are  all  arrayed  against 
the  right.  Philosophy  and  song  are  both  in  compact 
with  the  Powers  of  evil ;  and  while  the  latter  soothes 
us  to  slumber,  the  former  drops  poison  in  the  ear. 
The  sappers  and  miners  are  at  work ;  decoy-lights 
gleam  from  the  towers ;  the  wells  are  poisoned ; 
swords  are  forged  with  untempered  steel ;  the  secret 


33 

watch-word  is  communicated  to  the  enemy ;  the 
gates  are  opened  clandestinely ;  the  foe  fights  in  am- 
bush ;  all  this  must  be  considered,  if  we  would  save 
the  citadel.  Most  evidently  it  is  not  a  time  to  fight 
with  the  ghosts  of  the  departed  ;  we  have  living  foes 
•to  meet,  and  we  had  better  try  to  make  ghosts  of 
them.  The  thought  which  is  to  mould  the  times, 
must  be  adapted  to  the  times ;  the  language  intelli- 
gible ;  the  illustration  pertinent ;  the  end  aimed  at 
real ;  and  the  argument  irrefragable. 

One  further  consideration  we  have  to  offer :  the 
most  effective  thought  will  be  that  which  springs 
from  the  inspiration  of  holiness.  It  is  great  truth 
that  we  want,  and  this  is  not  earth-born,  but  comes 
from  beyond  the  clouds.  It  is  the  most  vital  and 
indispensable  condition  of  such  thought,  that  the  mind 
be  put  into  the  true  attitude  for  its  reception.  The 
soul  must  be  so  purged  and  polished,  that  its  surface 
will  reflect  the  stars.  It  is  through  inspiration,  the 
in-breathing  of  holy  thoughts,  that  the  world  has 
learned  its  choicest  lessons.  "  The  inspiration  of  the 
Lord  giveth  understanding."  The  thoughts  that 
have  not  been  in  some  sense  inspired,  have  soon  ex- 
pired, breathed  themselves  into  air  and  been  scat- 
tered. Who  reads  the  old,  infidel  books  ?  The  very 
skeptic  of  the  day  abjures  them,  probabl}  because 
he  thinks  that  he  can  write  better ;  but  he  irust  be 
content  in  time  to  share  their  fate.  John  P  juvan. 
••  the  inspired  tinker,"  is  read,  while  Hobbes,  and 
Shaftesbury,  and  Collins,  and  Woolston,  and  Tindall, 

K 


34 

and  Morgan,  sleep  quietly  in  dust ;  "  ashes  to  ashes," 
has  long  since  been  said  over  their  works.  Many  a 
brilliant  effort  of  modern  skepticism,  whose  scintilla- 
tions charm  the  multitude,  is  doomed  to  as  speedy  an 
extinction.  For  a  moment,  the  gorgeous  coruscation 
lights  up  the  horizon  with  its  artificial  fire  and  oblit- 
erates the  stars;  but,  after  the  short  blaze  is  over, 
the  old  planets  are  found  in  their  places,  shining 
calmly  ps  before.  The  human  race  have  no  interest 
in  seeing  those  great  truths,  upon  which  their 
choicest  hopes  rest,  blotted  out  of  being :  they  exist 
for  the  soul,  and  the  soul  exists  for  them,  and  this 
affinity  is  not  to  be  readily  broken.  The  world  is 
always  conservative  of  those  truths,  except  when 
under  some  temporary  delirium,  and  the  whole  race 
never  go  mad  altogether.  Whatever  doctrine  or  in- 
stitution is  essential  to  the  welfare  of  mankind,  will 
assert  its  right  to  live  ;  and  the  world  will  in  the  end 
be  most  grateful  to  those  who  have  done  lowliest 
homage  to  that  divinely-given  truth. 

And  now,  in  conclusion,  we  ask, — What  will  be 
the  prominent  characteristics  of  the  intellectual  era 
towards  which  we  are  tending  ?  Our  answer  must 
be  given  almost  in  a  word. 

There  will  be  a  fairer  adjustment  of  the  relations 
existing  between  form  and  substance,  language  and 
thought,  dogma  and  spirit.  There  will  be  no  further 
merging  of  the  thing  signified  in  the  sign,  nor  any 
unwise  divorce  of  the  substance  from  the  sign.  One 
man  will  no  longer  stand  for  the  form,  as  chough  it 


a 


35 
were  all :  while  another  rejects  it,  as  though  it  were 
nothing.  It  will  be  seen  that  forms  are  not  things ; 
and  yet  that  all  things  have  fomi.  Thus  one  great 
occasion  ol'  contest  will  be  removed  :  for  thus  far  the 
want  of  agreement  as  to  the  relation  of  signs  to  sub- 
^ance,  has  filled  the  earth  with  violence. 

There  will  also  be  a  clearer  recognition  of  the 
mutual  relations  of  all  branches  of  science,  and  of 
their  essential  harmony.  The-  physical  world  will 
then  be  regarded  as  a  grand  symbol  of  the  spiritual. 
The  voices  of  nature  and  of  revelation  will  sound  in 
unison.  Every  thing  will  then  be  vocal  of  God. 
The  heavens  will  declare  His  glory,  and  the  firma- 
ment show  forth  His  handy-work."  Sense  will  be- 
come spiritualized :  form,  color,  sound,  the  rolling 
landscape,  the  gorgeous  cloud,  the  awful  thunder, 
will  be  joined  with  dogma  and  doctrine,  to  inform 
and  elevate  the  soul. 

There  will  also  be  a  gradual  assimilation  of  all 
those  elements,  dwelling  in  various  systems,  which 
are  essentially  harmonious.  Fragmentary  truths 
will  coalesce  :  half-truths,  hemispheres  of  truth,  will 
be  welded  together,  to  make  one,  complete  sphere  ; 
which  thus  rounded  and  balanced,  will  move  on 
peacefully  in  its  fit  orbit. 

Thus  there  will  be  inrluced  an  approximation 
towards  universal  agreement  in  essentials,  and  the 
world  will  behold  a  true  developement  of  catholic 
unity.  To  say  that  this  is  impossible,  is  to  declare, 
either  that  there  is  no  such  thinoj  as  fixed  and  abso- 


36 

lute  truth,  or  that  the  mind  possesses  no  faculties  by 
which  that  truth  can  be  authenticated,  notwithstand- 
ing the  fact  that  God  has  specially  and  authorita- 
tively revealed  it.  Now,  all  truth  is  of  God,  and  has 
the  ijipress  of  his  immutable ness  :  the  human  mind 
is  of  God,  and  submitting  to  the  necessary  conditions, 
it  may  be  made  to  reflect  that  immutable  truth.  It 
was  created  for  the  true  and  not  for  the  false ;  and 
though  it  is  so  sadly  deranged  by  sin,  that  it  often 
prefers  the  false,  it  has  never  lost  its  intellectual 
perception  of  the  difference  between  right  and  wrong. 
God  has  never  taken  away  this  faculty  from  us ;  and 
when  the  hour  comes  that  all  men  are  willing  to  use 
that  gift  honestly,  the  earth  will  rejoice.  Before  the 
race  can  be  made  to  do  right,  they  must  learn  to 
think  right;  conviction  precedes  action. 

It  is  the  vocation  of  those  whom  I  address  to-day 
to  evolve  and  set  forward  the  truth.  This  is  the 
high  function  to  which  you  are  called :  may  the 
Author  of  all  truth  give  you  the  strength  and  the 
courage  which  you  need  in  the  discharge  of  this  mo- 
mentous duty. 


<?ri)c  rigljt  an^  tl)c  iHitn  of  forming  i^nbcpcnLicnt^ 
inbiDiLiual  Opinions. 


AN  ADDRESS 


PKONOUNCED  BEFORE 


TIE   HOUSE    OF    CONVOCATION 


OF 


TRINITY   COLLEGE 


IN    CHRIST   CHURCH,     HARTFORD,     JULY    30th,    1351 


BY  THE    HON.  LEVI   WOODBURY,   LL.  D.. 

ASSOCIATE  JUSTICE  OF  THE  SUPHEME  COURT  OF  THE  UKITED  STATES. 


Published  by  die  House  of  Convocation. 


HARTFORD : 

S.  HAH:MEK  &  CO. — CALEND^VK  PEESS^. 
1851. 


NOTE. 

It  may  be  proper  to  state,  that  this  Address  was  pro- 
nounced, only  a  few  weeks  previous  to  the  death  of  its 
lamented  Author;  which  occurred  before  the  Manu- 
script was  committed  lo  the  press. 


ADDRESS, 


This  ocCiVsioN  is  full  of  interest  from  two  general  con- 
siderations. One  is  connected  with  the  welfare  of  the  youth- 
ful scholar,  who  is  about  to  leave  these  classic  shades  for  the 
turmoil  and  responsibilities  of  the  busy  world,  and  the  otlier 
with  the  character,  affection  and  hopes  of  the  College,  anx- 
ious as  his  Alma  Matei\  that  he  shall  succeed  well  in  his 
new  career,  and  reflect  honor  on  her  watchful  labors  to  fit 
iim  for  usefulness  in  the  thorny  paths  of  life.  May  neither 
be  disappointed. 

And  to  justify  some  hopes  that  I  may  prove  successful  in 
the  attempt  to  make  a  few  suggestions  appropriate  to  both, 
allow  me  to  dwell  for  a  short  time  on  a  topic  not  unimportant 
to  any  of  us.  It  is  independence  of  thought.  It  is  on  the 
right  and  the  duty  of  forming  independent,  individual  opin- 
ions. 

When  young  men  enter  on  the  dusty  arena  of  business, 
and  leave  behind  the  recitation  hall  and  lecture-room,  where 
they  have  been  taught  by  others  more  experienced  and 
learned,  a  new  theatre  is  opened  to  them.  They  are  soon  to 
be  looked  up  to  as  teachers  themselves  in  diflxirent  spheres. 
They  and  those  of  their  generation  are  soon  to  rule  rather 
than  be  ruled.  They  will  constitute  the  Young  America  of 
the  closing  half  of  the  nineteenth  century,  and  are  destined 


to  lead  and  not  follow  the  drowsy  bum  of  the  rest  of  the 
world,  ir,  then,  thej  would  reflect  back  honor  on  their  past 
instructors,  they  must  have  formed,  or  must  forthwith  form, 
in  many  respects,  independent,  individual  opinions  on  most 
of  the  vital  aftairs  in  which  they  expect  to  be  actors,  or  they 
will  1)0  unable  to  take  a  decided  stand  in  exigencies,  and 
leave  their  foot-prints  on  history,  making  some  useful  im- 
pression on  the  age  in  which  they  live,  and  contributing  in 
some  degree  to  its  progress  and  glory. 

Without  possessing  such  opinions,  they  will  often  be  mis- 
led in  the  fogs  which  envelope  mortals,  and  will  peradven- 
ture  be  lost  among  the  quicksands  of  life,  which  they  have 
not  the  pilot  firmness,  if  they  have  the  pilot  skill,  to  avoid. 
Without  possessing  and  exercising  such  02:)inions,  they  are 
likely  also  to  bring  discredit  on  themselves  and  the  College 
which  has  educated  them,  rather  than  to  enable  her,  feeling 
a  just  pride  in  her  sons,  to  exclaim  like  the  Roman  Matron 
— ''Hhese  are  my  jewels.''''  It  would  show  that  they  have  not 
learned  one  of  the  most  important  lessons  in  life — to  think  for 
themselves,  to  reason,  to  discriminate  and  decide  for  them- 
selves. Disregarding  this,  education  is  often  but  scattered 
Sybilline  leaves,  or  if  an  accumulation  of  knowledge,  it  is 
without  system  in  its  arrangement,  or  skill  in  its  employ- 
ment. It  may  be  the  acquisition  of  tools,  but  it  is  without 
instruction  for  their  use ;  means,  without  the  courage  and 
habit  to  promote  the  desired  ends ;  power,  without  the  ability 
to  wield  it ;  and  a  life  doomed  to  servility  to  others,  and  to 
doubts  w^hich  it  has  not  the  custom  or  daring  to  remove  ;  it 
can  neither  untie  nor  cut  them.  Instead  of  meeting  occasion- 
ally with  Gordian  knots,  such  a  j)erson  will  find  the  high- 
ways of  life  strewed  with  them,   and  the  unfortunate  imbo- 


rile  will  become  as  much  disgraced  in  liis  career  as  he  is 
slavish  and  stripped  of  some  of  the  highest  attributes  of 
liumanity.  AVith  no  manly  independence  of  thought,  rather 
tliaii  being  looked  up  to  as  a  guide,  he  will  be  a  mere  cros> 
road  post  without  a  guide-board.  He  is  not  a  whole  hona 
fide  man ;  he  is  but  little  better  than  an  ape.  His  opinions 
are  not  his  own,  but  borrowed  or  pirated.  He  wears  only 
second-hand  clothes.  His  influence  in  society  and  public 
affairs  is  no  more  than  that  of  a  weathercock,  which  tunis 
just  as  it  is  blowed  upon  from  elsewhere.  He  is  the  victim 
<.>f  tlie  perverseness  of  any  one,  bows  to  an  ipse  dixit  instead 
of  a  reason,  and  swears  daily  to  the  words  of  some  master 
in  religion  or  philosophy  without  any  due  examination. 
^Many  men  thus  pass  their  lives  with  few  or  no  fixed  opiniont? 
of  their  own,  and  are  as  dependent  on  others  as  is  the  ivy  on 
the  wall  or  tree  to  which  it  clings.  Uncertain  opinions,  too, 
are  apt  to  mystify,  and  hence  imcertain  or  ambiguous  words 
are  not  to  be  scattered  among  the  people,  but  what  is  clear, 
decided  and  independent.  It  is  not  the  ignis  fatuus  or 
meteor  which  can  be  confided  in  by  the  tempest-tost  mariner, 
but  the  firm  and  towering  light-house.  Uncertain  or  vagut^ 
principles,  likewise,  if  held  uj)  for  obedience,  might,  like  Cali- 
gula's laws,  as  well  be  hung  so  high  as  not  to  be  at  all  read- 
able by  the  masses.  Again,  the  habit  of  forming  independ- 
ent, individual  opinions,  aftects  and  improves  the  whole 
character  no  less  than  the  views  entertained  on  particular 
questions.  Each  learns  thus  to  discriminate  well,  rather 
than  yield  uncalculating  submission.  By  experience,  each 
thus  becomes  more  competent  to  judge,  and  will  judge  for 
liimself,  thus  acquiring  more  decision  of  character,  like  the 
Howards  and  Frys,  no  less  than  the  Luthers  or  Ciesars  ;  like 


the  Robert  Halls  and  John  Knoxes.  and  the  Ledyards,  as- 
well  as  the  Wellingtons  and  Jacksons.  This  sometimes  de- 
generates into  rashness  or  cruelty,  and  leads  to  what  is  vis- 
ionary ;  but  it  is  not  designed  to  do  these,  or  to  encom-age 
knighterrantry  and  fighting  wind-mills,  nor  that  worst  of  all 
employments,  racing  over  Alps  to  conquer  worlds  and  devas- 
tate, rather  than  improve  or  reform.  In  such  ill-judged  en- 
terprizes,  some  of  these  energies  have  been  developed,  but 
at  the  same  time  wretchedly  perverted,  and  have  by  this 
abuse,  by  their  want  of  virtuous  motive  and  usefid  aims, 
more  cursed  than  blessed  mankind.  But  well  directed,  well 
influenced,  these  independent,  intelligent  exertions  will  not 
despise  or  neglect  efforts  for  good  in  the  humblest  spheres, 
on  topics  the  least  showy,  if  beneficial,  or  with  associates 
however  lowly  and  unanimated  with  worldly  ambition.  It 
is  nobility  of  aim  and  not  of  station  which  inspires  it,  and 
its  cardinal  object  is,  not  to  rush  headlong  into  every  new 
and  daring  object,  or  break  down  existing  institutions,  but 
to  improve  what  has  been  established,  and  act  with  judgment 
and  discretion,  though  firmly ;  not  to  conclude  at  once  that 
all  which  is  old  is  rotten  or  corrupt,  and  like  Soutbey  and 
Coleridge,  start  in  a  career  believing  almost  every  thing 
worm-eaten,  mouldy,  and  a  canker  at  its  heart.  They  may 
feel  warmly,  yet  act  prudently.  Each  person  of  this  tem- 
perament feels  that  he  has  a  heart  and  a  head,  and  uses  them, 
it  may  be  with  enthusiasm  at  times,  Ijut  still  discreetly.  Like 
Catholic  Mary  of  England,  such  are  likely  to  possess  strong 
feelings,  and  have  some  Calais  or  other  engraved  on  their 
hearts^  as  she  said  they  would  find  on  hers  when  she  died. 
Tliis  ardent  habit  of  mind  can  also  alone  imj)art  confidence 
in  one's  own  course  and  opinions,  and  thus  beget  self-posses- 


eion  in  moral  clauger.     Knowing  tliat  our  opinions  have  been 
carefully  analyzed  and  deliberately  formed,  we  can  dare  to 
trust  to  them  at  the  stake  and  amidst  the  tortiu-es  of  the  In- 
quisition.    We  have  then  some  firm  Pilots  in  life,  and  feel 
the  confidence  in  them  which  is  felt  in  marine  pilots  amidst 
the  tempests  of  the  ocean,  or  when  several  at  the  wheel  and 
as  many  more  at  the  helm  in  a  Canadian  steamer,  plunge 
down  the  perilous  rapids  of  the  St.  Lawrence,  where  a  want 
of  like  judgment  and  simultaneous  movement  in  the  whole, 
as  if  there  were  a  single  eye  and  single  arm,  would  be  likely 
to  end  in  the  inevitable   destruction  of  all  on  the  cascades 
and  whirlpools  and  rocks  through  which  they  dash  so  madly. 
There  is  another  result  of  much  weight.     The  habit  of  form- 
ing independent,  individual  opinions  on  most  matters,  ena- 
bles the  martyr  spirit,  under  all  kinds  of  rebufi's  and  perse- 
cution, never  to  falter  or  faint,  hut  ''''hear  hra/vely  if^,"  and  if 
driven  to  the  wall,   cause  bigots   and  "tyrants  to  fall  with 
every  blow."    It  is  not  of  the  rose-water  school  in  any  thing. 
You  know  where  to  find  such  people  in  an  emergency  almost 
as  well  as  yo,u  know  in  mathematics  that  two  and  two  make 
four,  because  they  act  firmly  under  a  fixed  and  certain  set  of 
principles.     You  know  when  to  rely  on  them  for  the  good 
and  useful,  and  also  when  you  cannot  rely  on  them  for  the 
trifling,  the  frivolous,  or  the  false.     Friends  in  need  in  private 
life  and  in  pul)lic,  the  anchors  of  safety  and  hope,  they  may 
perish  in  a  cause,  undermined  by  tlie  artifices  of  demagogues 
or  cloven  down  by  brutal  power,  yet  they  will  never  betray 
it,  never  falter,  never  despair.     ]\[eu  of  this    class   are   the 
persons  who  leave  their  nuirks  on  the  age  in  which  they  live, 
whether  in  religion  or  jurisprudence,   politics  or  literature. 
They  cast  a  bright  light  over  a  shadowy  earth,  rather  than 


8 

V)ecome  tlie  mere  shadows  of  otliers.     Sncli  make  reforms, 
and  do  not  leave  every  tiling  bound  in  cast  iron,  as  tliey  find 
it,  or  like  the  stifiened,  fresh-looking  corpses  after  a  genera- 
tion frozen  in  Arctic  ice,  or  like  the  relics  in  the  lava  which 
ran  over  Pompeii,  preserving  for  many  centuries  evenhouse- 
liold   furniture   as  unaltered   as   the  pjTamids.     Such,  too, 
draw  out  the  whole  powers  of  nature  in  every  thing  around, 
and  hasten  onward  every  great  and  glorious  work,  daily  im- 
parting new  energies  and  daily  striking  out  new  lights.    By 
this  independent  course  alone.  Progress  or  improvement  is 
attainable,  which  seems  a  beneficent  design  of  Providence. 
For  mere  vital  succession,  in  man  or  any  thing  else,  would 
be  in  many  respects  philosophically  unmeaning  and  ajipa- 
rently  useless  ;  and,  of  necessity,  for  anything  to  be  station- 
ary or  retrograde  in  existence  would  reflect  on  the  infinite 
wisdom  which  formed  it ;  for  then,  all  tliis  lower  creation 
would  move  in  a  circle  rather  than  onward  or  upward,  and 
we  should  see  our  path  bordered  with  sepulchres  and  the 
ashes  of  past  generations.     It   requires  no  more  proof  that 
it  is  the  duty  of  all  to  fonn  opinions  and  exercise  them  in  an 
independent  manner,  when  the  opposite  course  is  so  deroga- 
tory, and  when  each  man  is  accountable  for  the  due  exercise 
of  all  his  talents,  and  is  not  permitted  therefore  to  lay  aside 
these  talents  in  a  napkin,  nor  to  pervert  them  by  crime,  nor 
»mother  them  by  the  weeds  of  neglect. 

A  word  or  two  on  one  other  consideration,  which,  on  this 
subject,  appeals  to  the  heart  as  Well  as  head  of  young  schol- 
ars just  launching  on  the  ocean  of  practical  life.  Tliey  are 
watched  over  by  angel  guards.  Grateful  returns  are  due  to 
these,  ratlier  than  servility  to  a  censorious?  World  that  dogs 


9 

tlieir  footsteps  with  envy  and  backbiting.  Strive  tlien  not 
to  defeat  the  just  expectations  of  teachers  liere,  and  miicli 
more  of  tlie  beloved  at  tlie  family  fireside  and  altar,  who 
have  watched  over  yom*  youthful  education,  and  offered  so 
many  prayers  and  tears  for  your  success.  That  pale  mother 
yonder,  who  has  cheered  you  onward ;  that  anxious  father, 
who  lias  endured  so  many  privations  for  yom*  assistance ; 
that  sister  with  hectic  cheek ;  that  fond  brother,  so  full  of 
confidence  and  sympathy ;  all  will  otherwise  be  doomed  to 
disai)pointnient  and  anguish,  and  you  will  prove  not  only 
ungrateful  to  them,  but  unfaithful  to  the  cause  of  literature, 
and  your  more  elevated  and  hope-inspiring  position  in  so- 
ciety. 

Without  dwelling  longer  on  the  reasons  why  independent, 
individual  opinion  exercises  so  decided  an  influence  both  on 
private  and  public  character,  and  becomes  so  imperative  a 
right  and  duty  for  us  all,  I  tmst  you  will  excuse  me  for  occu- 
pying your  attention  a  short  time  longer  in  considering  some 
of  the  affairs  of  life  which  demand  it  most  peculiarly.  The 
duty  of  in-dependence  of  opinion  in  matters  of  litel-ature, 
and  especially  of  criticism,  perhaps  deserves  the  first  atten- 
tion in  such  a  place,  and  before  slich  an  audience.  Without 
it  no  just  discrimination  can  exist  as  to  the  preference  of  one 
branch  of  study  over  another,  or  of  the  true  ground  on  which 
it  ought  to  rest.  Belles  Lettres,  or  Science,  or  Philosophy, 
may  rule  the  hour  with  a  sort  of  ephemeral  power,  and  be 
followed  together,  or  successively,  as  whim  or  chance  shall 
dictate,  but  not  with  profit  or  distinction,  unless  private  judg- 
ment is  stcnily  exercised  in  relation  to  them.  And  the  se- 
lection of  one  autlior  in  any  department  over  another  can 
never,  witliout  this,  be  nuide  with  advantage,  and  no  inde- 


10 

pendent  opinion,  no  severe  sentence  oil  incapacity  or'  igno- 
rance, no  feeling  of  condemnation  if  the  guilty  are  all-owed 
to  escape,  no  firmness  or  trust  in  one's  convictions,  no  discre- 
tion to   guide   others  or  be  useful  to   one's  self  can  often 
exist.    These  qualities,  duly  exercised,  will  enable  real  merit 
to  occupy  its  elevated  and  deserved  niche  in  the  temple  of 
fame,  while  the  dunces  shall  sink  to  theirs,  and  not,  cuckoo- 
like, as  tabled,  live  by  hatching  the  eggs  of  other  birds.    This 
course  alone  can  prevent  the  triumph  of  mere  adventitious 
circumstances  over  true  genius,  wealth  over  merit,  or  rank 
over  humility,  troops  of  friends  over  the  friendless,  influence 
and  position  in  social  life  over  him  whose  fate  is  bound  to 
"some  cold  patron  or  a  jail."     So  without  such  private  judg- 
ment, well  cultivated  and  persisted  in,  no  metaphysical  truth 
can  be  successfully  explored ;  no  Lockes  formed  to  give  to 
the  understanding  its  due  vigor ;    no  Sydneys  and  Eussells 
trained  to  vindicate  with  pen,  as  well  as  tongue   and  life, 
political  rights ;    no  Galileo  to  insist  that  the  world  moves, 
and,  though  consigned  to  a  dungeon  for  this,  to  insist  that  it 
still  moves  /  and  in  truth  no  Copernicus  to  develope  the  true 
revolutions  of  the  solar  system  amidst  superstition,  incredu- 
lity and  popidar  prejudice   dogging  him  to  his  tomb.     In 
this  way  alone  can  most  errors  be  made  to  tremble  like  Bel- 
shazzar  and  his  wassail  nobles  when  seeing  the  blazing  hand- 
writing on  the  wall.     Thus  can  the  idols  of  false  philosophy, 
as  well  as  false  religion  and  false  government,  be  overturned, 
and  the  unnatural  images  of  a  bad  taste  in  literature  be  torn 
from  their  dusty  picture  frames.     What  but  such  a  habit  can 
probe  the  cluiracter  in  literature  of  every  nation,   and  at 
every  stage  in  its  progress  ?  and  boldly  teach  us  what  should 
be  imitated  and  what  shunned?  and  embolden  us  to  road, 


11 

witli  an  almost  supernatural  tongue,  the  soul  of  a  people  in 
their  fine  arts,  and  especially  in  their  painting  and  poetry  ? 
We  can  thus  see  with  almost  apocalyptic  eye,   most  of  the 
mysteries  of  races,  climates,  "skyey  influences,"  and  reli- 
gions, if  their  literary  tastes  gush  out  with  the  ardor  and 
boldness  of  independent,  individual  feeling.     Without  reso- 
lute independence  of  thought  on  literature,   where  would 
have  been  the  Bentleys,  and  Johnsons,  and  Scaligers,  and 
Neibuhrs,  and  Jeffries  ?    Where  sound  taste,  instead  of  Delia 
Cruscan  frippery  ?     Where  honest  censure,  in  place  of  adu- 
lation and  sycophancy  ?     Without  these,  too,  in  the  individ- 
uals who  read  and  decide  on  literary  merit,  what  is  public 
opinion  worth  on  litcraiy  men  or  literary  works  ?  A  thousand 
echoes  of  one  servile  friend  are  still  nothing  but  echoes.     A 
thousand  nothings  added  together  make  no  more  in  weight 
than  one  nothing.     And  when  the  whole  commonwealth  of 
letters,  or  a  majority  of  it,   is  made  up  of  imitations,  Da- 
guerreotype copies,  indiscriminate  censure  or  applause,  its 
decrees  should  possess  little  influence ;  and  somid  literature 
and  sound  scholarship  arc  likely  often  to  suffer  for  it  whole 
generations.     Tlie  right  to  individual  opinion  must  also  exist 
in  the  great  Republic  of  letters,  or  literary  society  is  made 
to  degenerate  into  a  despotism,  and  the  standard  of  merit  is 
degraded,  and  the  just  mfluence  of  the  educated  portions  of 
tlie   community  is   lessened.     Li   nuitters  of  criticit^m  and 
scholarship,  also,  mankind  are  too  apt  in  modern  times  to 
give  disproportionate  weight  to  what  is  merely  ancient,  fal- 
lowing in  conflding  credulity  many  things  merely  because 
tliey  have  existed,  and  not  because,  after  independent  scru- 
tiny, they  are  found  to  be  best.     But  such  a  scrutiny  may 
satisfy  us  that  numy  things  now  supposed  to  be  wi'ong  in 


12 

literature  or  science  are  right,  and  some  now  deemed  right 
are  really  wrong.  The  more  modern  opinions  are,  however, 
the  more  likely  to  be  right,  as  they  are  formed  in  the  man- 
hood of  the  world,  rather  than  in  its  cradle  or  inexperiencetl 
infancy.  They  are  formed,  too,  after  a  fuller  discussion 
through  many  ages,  and  after  the  superiority  of  many  of 
their  views  has  been  tested  in  a  thousand  battle-fields  of  the. 
master  minds  in  successive  ages.  Again,  to  judge  what  is 
right  in  literature,  by  the  exercise  of  indi^ddual  opinion,  it  is 
not  enough  to  garner  up  the  j)Sist,  to  amass  facts,  but  we 
must  think  on  them,  think  fearlessly;  we  must  use  them  as 
helps  to  something  higher,  stepping-stones  to  what  may 
advance  the  hopes  of  humanity  in  escaping  more  and  moi-e 
from  the  dominion  of  error.  Independent  scrutiny  may,  in 
this  way,  emancipate  us  from  many  slavish  opinions  as  t< . 
the  intelligence  of  certain  ages,  and  schools  of  philosophy, 
and  distinguished  luminaries  in  the  history  of  the  world ; 
and  while  some  are  foimd  to  be  t}^es  and  exponents  of  tlieij' 
times,  a  few,  like  Socrates  and  Bacon,  are  in  advance  of 
them,  and,  unfortunately,  others  are  as  much  behind  their 
times  as  some  of  the  drones  in  tlie  cloisters  of  St.  Omei-'s. 
On  the  same  theoiy,  the  duty  of  private  judgment  in  all 
thinsrs  will  teach  us  to  discriminate  in  the  same  individual : 
and  if  we  think  M-ith  Lord  Coke  on  law,  not  to  agree  witli 
him  or  his  age  as  to  witchcraft  or  intolerance;  or,  thinking 
with  Lord  Bacon  in  pliilosophy,  or  Sir  Matthew  Hale  in 
religion,  not  to  coincide  with  them  or  their  generation?  in 
other  things  which  seem  manifestly  erroneous  and  supersti- 
tious. 

Li  the  next  jjlace,  a  word  or  two  on  independence  of 
thought  in   matters  of  government.     Its   exercise  there  i» 


13 

vital   to  the  preservation  of  Public  LiT)erty,     In  a  country 
so  free  and  self-governed  as   ours,   it  must  he  the  right  and 
duty,   no  less  than  glory  of  all,  to  form  their  own  opinions 
on  most  matters  of  political  importance,  and  it   is  indispen- 
sable to  the  continuance  of  our  Republican  system.     But,  as 
a  general  principle,  without  reference  to  forms  of  government, 
the  obligation  to  think  with  independence,  and,  where  not 
tied  up  by  prior  obligations,   to  act  with  indej^endence  in 
government,  as  in  literature,  is  paramount.     It  is  manifest 
that,  otherwise,  the  widest  door  is  flung  open  to  despotism  ; 
and  the  great  cement  of  the  social  system  will  cease  to  be  a 
common  bond  of  miion  ;  while  no  uniform  guide  in  princi- 
ple can  exist  for  preserving  law  and  liberty  and  order.    This 
is  the  true  general  princij)le,  but  error  often  results  from  not 
noticing  established  exceptions.     Man,  till  capable,  by  years 
of  discretion  and  knowledge,  to  judge  for  himself  in  matters 
of  government,  may  well  acquiesce   in  what  he  finds  estab- 
lished in  the  family  or  the  State.     The  rashness,  inexperi- 
ence, and  enthusiasm  of  youth,  however  mingled  with  many 
excellencies,  have  been  found,  the  world  over  and  in  all  time, 
to  justify  making  it  an  era  in  life  for  learning  and  discipline, 
rather  than  judging.     But   afterwards,  become  mature,  it 
possesses  the  right,  and  it  is  rendered  a  duty,  to  think  and 
even  act  for  itself,  independently,  when  not  within  the  terri- 
'"ory  and  institutions  of  othei"?,  and  when  not  restrained  by 
previous  obligations.     The  patriarchal  authority  can  not  rea- 
sonably govern  longer;  and  it  belongs  to  manhood  not  only 
to  form  independent  opinions  for  itself,  but,   if  imperfectly 
educated,  to  acipiire  nmre  knowledge,  and  exercise  it  wisely 
in  correcting  them.     The  right  of  a  man,  as  a  man,  bearing 
God's  image  on  earth,  to  think  and  act  freely  for  himself. 


14 

Wiien  not  under  prior  obligations,  is  as  clear,  as  a  general 
principle,  as  it  is  to  see  or  hear  for  himself,  or  eat  for  him- 
self. By  no  moral  or  political  claim,  independent  of  con- 
tract, or  naked  power,  can  government  interfere  with  my 
sentiments  wdiile  unexpressed,  or  not  used  so  as  to  endanger 
or  injure  others.  It  might  better  select  the  fashion  of  my 
coat,  or  the  female  I  must  wed  for  weal  or  woe.  And  soci- 
ety possesses  no  more  right  to  persecute  me  for  this  in  the 
"more  moderate  forms"  of  social  ostracism,  j)olitical  outlaw- 
ry, or  Popish  bulls,  than  with  the  Bastile,  or  the  Inquisition. 
Hence  it  is  notorious,  that  in  this  Rejpvhlic^  opinions^  both 
in  law  and  in  point  of  fact,  have,  as  a  general  position,  a 
right  to  be  free  as  air;  and  that  freedom  of  speech  or  fair 
discussion  is  also  guaranteed  to  all  by  the  Constitution  itself. 
But  on  this  are  some  very  salutary  limitations,  often  disre- 
garded, though  sacred  as  the  rights  themselves.  They  are 
such  as  regard  to  the  decorum  of  not  being  blasjAemous, 
as  respect  to  the  privileges  of  others  so  as  not  to  slander  or 
libel  them,  and  as  conformity  to  the  public  peace  by  not 
disturbing  it  with  exhortations  to  violence  and  crime.  But 
some  insist  that  still  further  limitations  are  necessary.  They 
set  up  some  divine  control  as  to  government,  some  right 
divine  to  rule  or  think  for  others.  But  acquiescing  in  this  as 
much  and  no  more,  as  to  own  the  hand  of  Deity  in  every 
thing,  where  is  the  revelation  for  government  communicated? 
We  have  no  Institutes  of  Menu,  like  the  Hindoos,  for  direc- 
tions in  civil  as  well  as  religious  matters  ;  no  particular  polit- 
ical code  sii])posed  to  be  written  by  the  finger  of  God  him- 
self, the  Mosaic  one  as  to  Government  not  being  deemed 
binding  on  us,  jiiid  agreed  to  be  followed  by  our  Puritan 
Fathers  only  till  they  could  devise  "something  better."    Who, 


15 

in  the  next  plaee,  is  authorized  to  regulate  this  6ul)jcct  in 
the  absence  of  divine  interposition?  And,  though  it  is 
urged  tliat  the  doctrine  that  all  may  and  should  investigate 
is  too  dangerous  in  its  consequences  to  be  adopted,  yet  who 
is  empowered  to  exclude  or  admit  any  one  class,  or  one  pro- 
fession ?  And  who  is  to  fix  the  exact  standard  of  knowledge 
or  ignorance  wliich  shall  qualify  or  disfranchise?  Grant 
some  may  err,  as  many  do  when  the  will  is  free ;  but  tliis  is 
incident  to  humanity,  and  every  one  is  as  much  bound  to 
investigate,  eo  as  not  to  err  if  possible,  as  he  is  bound  to 
investigate  at  all ;  and  he  will  often  form  an  opinion  in  exi- 
gencies that  he  must  and  should  in  many  respects  trust  to 
others  better  qualified  than  himsel£  But  he  can  not  do  this 
thoughtlessly,  or  without  examining  and  seeing  it  to  be  right, 
as  an  independent  and  just  conclusion  in  the  crisis  which  is 
upon  him.  The  danger  of  committing  many  errors  by  the 
exercise  of  independence  of  thought,  is  frequently  magni- 
fied. It  is  comparatively  small,  where  the  degree  of  intelli- 
gence and  morals  exist  which  are  proper  in  all  society ; 
where  the  choice  is  for  one's  self  and  those  most  near  and 
dear  to  him ;  where  they  are  to  bear  its  evils  as  well  as  reap 
its  benefits  ;  and  where  government,  once  established,  is  to 
be  obeyed  explicitly  till  altered.  Without  such  obedience, 
government  would  jjrove  a  mockery.  And  how  can  any 
right  of  independent  thinking,  excuse  one  from  acting  as  he 
has  deliberately  engaged  ?  How  can  conscientious  scruples 
or  any  supposed  higher  law  interpose  and  absolve  afterwards? 
The  time  to  stan  these  is  when  the  engagements  to  obey  are 
made  in  the  fundamental  compacts,  or,  in  adopting  them. 
These  compacts  to  obey  majorities  should  not  be  made  with- 
out jBjrst  consulting  conscience,  or  some  higher  law,  to  see 


16 

that  obedience  is  rio-lit  and  ou<>;lit  to  be  exacted  to  tlie  extent 
promised ;  or  if  made  in  liaste  or  by  inadvertence,  and  some 
of  tlie  parties  feel  umvilling  to  enforce  them  longer — though 
it  is  a  truism  that  some  natural  rights  are  renounced  in  gov- 
ernment— then  it  is  manifestly  their  duty  to  withdraw,  if  the 
majority  assents,  and  form  new  compacts  of  Government 
elsewhere,  accompanied  by  kindred  associates ;  to  go  out 
like  the  ten  tribes  of  Israel,  or  Madoc  of  Wales,  rather  than 
remain  and  repudiate  tlieir  own  engagements  to  obey,  or 
resist  by  force  what  has  peacefully  been  stipulated  and 
shoidd  be  peacefully  performed.  These  allusions  to  con- 
science are  not  that,  in  my  view,  it  is  to  be  slighted,  or,  as 
Sir  Pertinax  McSycophant  said,  "is  not  a  Parliamentary 
word,"  but  that  it  is  to  be  informed  well,  timed  well,  and 
applied  well.  The  limitations  on  rights,  and  particularly 
those  which  have  been  imposed  by  oui'selves,  are  to  be  scru- 
pulously observed,  or  we  also  violate,  often,  our  own  consci- 
entious obligations  to  God,  no  less  than  to  Government  and 
Society.  Obedience  to  these  obligations  is  the  duty  of  per- 
forming one's  contracts,  the  duty  of  fidelity  to  our  oaths,  the 
duty  of  truth,  living,  active  truth,  as  well  as  truth  theoreti- 
cally. Those  are  in  reality  possessed  of  liberty,  whom  the 
truth  thus  makes  free^  and  all  are  slaves  beside.  I  say 
nothing  here  of  the  great  right  of  private  oj)inion  to  attempt 
a  revolution  in  some  opj)res8ive  exigencies,  as  when  political 
privileges  have  been  grossly  violated  in  some  great  essentials, 
and  no  other  remedy  exists ;  but  I  speak  of  the  rights  and 
duties  of  subjects  in  the  ordinary  administration  of  the  laws, 
and  in  governments  which  the  citizens  themselves  have  made 
or  adopted,  and  can  peacefully  change  at  the  ballot  boxes. 
"Without  some  such  fixed  rules  in  government,  not  amenable 


17 

to  violence,  nor  to  be  nullified  by  indepcnclent  opinion  short 
of  a  majority,  miserable  anarcliy  will  control  eveiy  thing, 
and  the  community  would  be  in  a  condition  little  short  of 
piracy. 

But  the  right  of  independent  oj)inion  in  fonning  political 
compacts  is  still  more  dear  and  vital,  when  we  look  to  the 
influence  of  this  individual  opinion  on  potjlic  opinion,  that 
supposed  mistress  of  the  world.  "WTiat  is  public  opinio); 
composed  of  but  private  opinions  ?  AVliat  is  the  voice  of  any 
whole  people  in  any  one  government  or  community,  but  the 
aggregate  or  balance  of  the  voices  of  each  collected,  like  the 
result  of  a  vote  in  an  election  made  up  from  the  separate 
ballots  of  each  citizen?  Hence,  if  the  private  opinions  are 
in  many  respects  not  independent,  or  wrong,  so  must  be 
f>ublic  opinion.  The  mountain  will  consist  most  of  clay  or 
silex,  as  the  particles  of  each  may  jn'cdominate.  Is  this 
public  opinion,  then,  sometimes  ^vrong,  and  if  so,  is  it  to  be 
obeyed  politically  ?  And  how  can  it,  when  eiToneous,  be 
corrected  better  as  to  government,  than  by  informing  and 
improving  individual  opinions  ?  I  am  one  of  those  who 
think  that  public  opinion  on  many  topics,  as  well  as  govern- 
ment, has  been  often  wi-ong.  Thus  though  public  opinion 
required  Soci'ates  to  be  persecuted  and  to  drink  the  hemlock ; 
though  public  opinion  nailed  om*  Saviouk  to  the  Cross ; 
though  f)ublic  opinion  burned  liogers  and  Cranmcr  at  the 
stake ;  though  public  opinion  has  hung  myriads  for  witch- 
craft ;  though  public  opinion  may  once  have  been  that  the 
blood  did  not  circulate,  that  tlie  earth  was  flat,  and  water 
and  air  had  no  one  common  ingredient,  that  the  power  which 
moved  a  smoke-jack  could  not  move  tons  across  moimtains 
and  oceans,  or  the  lightning  be  used  to  convey  intelligence 
2 


18 

almost  instantaneously  over  continents,  yet  it  was  manifestly 
erroneous   then,   however  powerful.     Indeed,  what  is  the 
revolution  in  religion,  government,  literature  and  fashion, 
which  characterizes  every  age,  but  a  proof  that  public  opin- 
ion before  was  wrong,  or  is  then  wrong.     And  if  we  do  not 
concede  it  was  in  most  cases  before  wrong,  we  admit  that 
little  or  no  progress  is  made  in  the  world  for  the  better,  and 
that  the  human  race,  in  its  powers  and  hopes,  instead  of 
travelling  upward,  is  moving  backward,  or  at  the  best  only 
in  a  circle.     In  short  that  the  voice  of  the  people  was  the 
voice  of  God,  unless  in  its  strength,  when  saints  and  martyrs 
have  been  sacrificed ;  when  statesmen  and  patriots  the  most 
pure  have  fallen  on  the  scaffold  or  under  the  ferocious  guil- 
lotine ;  when  philosophers  and  philanthropists  and  heroes 
have  been  driven  into  exile  or  dungeons ;  and  when  it  sanc- 
tions, as  now  in  Oriental  and  African  despotisms,  such  super- 
stitions  and  tyi-anny  as  prevail,  most  who  now  exercise  an 
independent  and  enlightened  individual  opinion  must  disbe- 
lieve.   The  voice  of  the  people — voxpojMli — is  not,  then, 
always  riglit  in  a  moral  or  philosophical  view.     It  may  not 
be  vox  Dei^  except  in  political  power,  in  having  a  claim  for 
the  time  being  to  obedience  in  Government.     This  last  it 
has.     It  is  om-  duty,  then,  to  bow  to  the  suprem.acy  of  public 
opinion  in  laws,  till  changed  or  con-ected  by  reason,  inform- 
ation, exj^erience.     The  bayonet,  or  disobedience,  is  not  the 
true  mode  generally  for  reforming  these   errors  in  public 
opinion,  hut  reason  left  free  to  comhat  them  ;  private  opin- 
ions being  made  more  enlightened,  moral,  and  pervading, 
and  when  thus  improved,   swelling  into  a  majority.    It  is 
thus  manifest  as  to  public  opinion,  that  for  the  time  being, 
what  it  establishes  in  government  and  legislation  within  the 


19 

Constitution,  mnst  be  obeyed  in  ordinary  cases.  It  is  the 
majority  of  individual  opinions  whicli  will  thus  rule;  which 
should  give  color  and  character  to  public  opinion ;  and  which, 
as  right  or  wi'ong,  independent  or  servile,  make  a  heaven  or 
hell  of  much  on  earth. 

Our  forefathers,  in  the  exercise  of  private  judgment  in 
their  fatherland,  differed  on  great  principles  of  faith  as  well 
as  government,   from  the  majority ;  but   still   obeying  the 
latter  till  they  withdrew,  or  suffering  the  penalty,  they  quiet- 
ly sought  greater  indulgence  in  their  own  particular  views 
in  a  wilderness.     They  j^crsevcred  for  ages  in  their  private 
opinions  on  all  which  is  important  to  the  individual,  or  soci- 
ety, till  in  the  end  public  opinion  grew  stronger  and  better, 
and  till  were  thus  wrought  out  the  great  monuments  of  them 
that   stand  and   point   to  heaven  every  where  before  and 
around  us.    They  were  not  infallible.     In  some  respects  they 
seem  at  first  to  have  emulated  the  errors  of  their  persecutor:;. 
But  whatever  other  motives  or  causes  may  have  mingled 
and  aided,  this  independent  course  of  action  predominated, 
and  impelled  the  whole ;    and  the  result  is  that  there  the 
great  deed  stands— an  empire  won — a  EcpuLlic  established, 
beyond,  in  some  respects,  all  Greek   or  Eoman   examj)le. 
I^ot  merely  a  new  world  discovered  of  earth,  trees,  beasts  of 
prey,  savages,  such  as  brcike  on  the  gaze  of  Columbus,  but  a 
new  world  of  principles,   a  form  of  religion  if  not  in  some 
respects  new,  yet  now  established   and   secured  by  new 
guards  of  toleration  and  freedom  of  conscience,  and  a  new 
arena  for  popular  rights  and  public  liberty,  opened  to  the 
whole  of  mankind.     Not  for  lawless  violence,  not  for  crime 
and  anarchy,  but  here,  thank  God,  tlie  public  opinion  that 
has  been  durably  followed,  and  can  long  safely  be  relied  on, 


lias  been  autliorized  or  derived  from  tlie  individual,  inde- 
pendent opinions  of  the  great  and  good  of  all  ages ;  the' 
individual  opinions  "wliicli  have  stood  the  test  and  scrutiny 
of  time,  and  the  second,  sober  tlwuglits  of  the  intelligent  and 
honest  among  us,  rather  than  the  mere  impulses  of  passions 
or  fanaticism,  and  the  miserable  forthcomings  of  lying  ora- 
cles, or  Rochester  knockings.. 

But  the  most  prominent  subject  on  vv^hich  independent,, 
individual  opinion  should  be  exercised,  is  religion.  The  topic 
is  a  most  delicate  one.  But  in  my  vievsr,  in  relation  to 
notions  on  it,  so  interwoven,  and  so  momentous  in  life  as  in 
death,  it  is  as  much  a  duty,  as  a  general  rule,  to  form  them 
independently,  as  it  is  to  follow  them  with  firmness.  Wheth- 
er through  evil  or  good  report,  in  the  quiet  valley  or  busy 
mart  of  commerce,  at  the  stake,  the  hearth,  or  the  altar, 
religion  being  an  affair  between  the  individual  and  his  God, 
woe  to  the  man  who  uses  force,  or  mere  authority,  or  corrup- 
tion, to  divert  an  accountable  being  from  due  exertions  to 
investigate  for  liimself,  and  select  with  independence,  the- 
creed  which  liis  conscience  and  judgment,  after  full  inquiry, 
shall  decide  to  be  right.  Amid  a  chaos  of  opinions,  truth 
must  exist  in  some  of  them,  and  if  existing,  should  be  fol- 
lowed. For  how  can  man  be  ]3unished  hereafter  for  not 
believing  and  pursuing  the  truth,  if  truth  does  not  exist,  or 
he  is  not  capable  and  bound,  by  proper  exertions  of  an  inde- 
pendent mind,  to  discover  and  follow  it?  He  is  not  obliged 
to  take  a  leap  in  the  dark  for  eternity ;;  to  fonn  an  individual 
opinion  by  mere  caprice,  or  usage,  or  even  by  a  conscience 
unenlightened  and  unaided  by  reason  or  education.  But  he 
is  bound  to  test  all  things,  and  hold  fast  to  that  which  i& 
riglit.    "With  such   guides   as  education  and  good  moi'als,. 


21 

which,  as  before  observ-ed,  should  exist  in  all  societies,  and 
connected  with  all  religions  and  governments,  this  inde- 
l)endent,  individual  opinion  is  less  lik(4y  to  end  in  error  than 
tnith,  and  need  not  inspire  apprehensions  or  doubts  concem- 
ing  its  results.  Yet  some  danger  attends  it.  Individual 
opinion,  when  independent,  it  is  admitted,  is  more  likely  to 
be  unbelieving  and  rebellious,  than  when  governed  by  others. 
l>ut  this  is  one  of  the  evils,  which,  like  inundations  or  tor^ 
nadoes  in  the  physical  world,  arc  incident  to  the  possession 
of  the  benelicent  elements  of  water  and  air.  Nor  can  any 
untoward  incident  which  may  arise  from  it,  be  so  evil  in  the 
world,  as  the  despotism,  bigotry,  iron  oppression,  and 
wretched  slavery  that  would  result  from  ojjposite  doctrines. 
But  even  the  occasional  mischiefs  i'vom  the  indulgence  by 
all  in  such  free  and  independent  judgment,  arc  often  o\'cr- 
«stimated.  The  evil  is  chiefly  confined  to  inexperience  and 
ignorance,  and,  as  they  are  removed,  ceases.  Each  individ- 
ual feels,  also,  a  greater  interest  in  iiaving  a  good  religion, 
when  it  is  chosen  by  himself,  and  known  to  be  his  own  for 
time,  if  not  eternity.  He  has,  too,  for  a  guide  always,  the 
promptings  of  that  divinity  within,  which  enables  him  to 
distinguish  generally  the  right  from  the  ^vi'ong  when  brought 
in  contrast.  Puffendorf  says,  "there  is  a  natural  rectitude 
in  man's  understanding,  a  power  to  discriminate  what  is  best 
from  the  worst,  which  will  aid  him  in  emergencies."  Ifenee 
each  is  likely  to  form  a  wiser  selection,  if  making  bold  and 
honest  eflEbrts,  and  especially  when  aided,  as  before  suggest- 
ed, and  as  all  should  be,  by  suitable  education  and  good 
morals.  Each  is  also  inclined  to  love  the  beauty  and  useful- 
ness of  the  good,  rather  than  the  deformity  of  evil,  and  soon 
aequii*es  many  rules  of  action  from  experience ;  and  as  he 
2* 


22 

will  hardly  prefer  long  a  riglit  hand  glove  for  the  left  hand",, 
or  bitter  poisons  to  rich  and  luscious  fruits,   so  he  will  ere 
long  prefer  a  living,  fmitful  faith  to  sophistry  or  dead  works. 
But  there  are  some  exceptions  to  these  general  views  in 
favor  of  independence   in   choosing   a  religion.     "When  all 
personal  exertions  fail  to  attain  satisfactory  results,  and  doubt 
overshadows  the  ti-uth,  then  judgment  may  well  think  it 
safer  to  }deld  in  some  things  to  authority,  where  the  latter 
is  better  informed.    Particularly,  then,  may  the  immature 
mind  peld  to  parental  control  and  influence.     But  beyond 
this,  then,  may  the  individual,  cramped  in  time  and  oppor- 
tunity, properly  confide  more  in  others  who  possess  longer 
experience   and  deeper  research  on  this  particular  subject. 
Hence,  in  such  an  emergency,  the  theologian  might  and  will 
have,  as  he  generally  deserves,  more  respect  to  his  views  on 
what  was  or  was  not  revelation,  than  the  blacksmith,   or  as 
the  surgeon  might  better  be  trusted  to  amputate  a  limb,  than 
the  lawyer.     However  my  reason  approves  of  independent, 
individual  opinions,  and  a  course  of  life  to  form  and  act 
them  out  on  all  important  subjects,  yet  far  from  me  be  the 
thought  not  to  yield  due  reverence  to  the  good  and  great  in 
all  ages,  and  to  their  deliberate  opinions.    Kobly  they  toiled 
for  it — richly  they  deserve  it — freely  shall  they  receive  it. 
But   while  for  these  reasons,  and  on  some  subjects,  and  in 
some  periods  of  life,  and  in  some  peculiar  exigencies  hereto- 
fore alluded  to,  I  would,  in  cases' of  much  doubt,  adopt  their 
views,  as  least  likely  to  mislead  on  matters  which  they  had 
devoted  their  lives  to  understand,  yet  even  then,  the  indi- 
vidual is  responsible  for  tiying  himself  to  decide  correctly, 
under  all  the  lights  which  can  be  obtained;  and' then  it  is 
his  duty  to  investigate,  and  not  act  blindfolded.    Then  he 


23 

must  independently  adopt  the  views  of  others  as  far  as  he- 
goes  in  that  direction,  and  then  such  views  become  his  own, 
not  by  dictation  or  force,  but  the  fullest  examination  which 
he  is  able  to  make  with  his  limited  faculties  and  straitened 
means. 

When  matured  in  years,  and  when  full  responsibility  is 
exacted  from  man  as  to  opinions  and  conduct  in  all  secular 
concerns,  why  should  he  not  be  held  accountable,  both  here 
and  hereafter,  for  faithfully  fonning  a  connect  private  judg- 
ment in  religion,  so  far  as  he  is  able  ?  If  he  is  not  free  then 
to  choose.  Deity  would  be  treated  as  the  author  of  his  eiTors ; 
and  far  would  it  be  from  an  All-Wise  Providence  to  make 
him  free  to  choose,  and  at  the  same  time,  not  bound  and 
able  of  himself  to  choose  correctly..  Man  has  duties  in  this 
no  less  momentous  than  his  rights,  and  he  is  not  to  take  his 
religion  dependently  and  quietly  from  a  majority,  or  from 
mere  political  or  ecclesiastical  dictation.  Had  this  been 
done  by  our  ancestors,  we  should  still  be  heathens,  and  wor- 
shipping idols  as  degradingly  as  they  are  worshipped  now  in 
much  of  Asia,  or  were  on  the  banks  of  the  Tliames  and  Isis 
when  the  venerable  Bede,  in  his  history  of  England,  began 
its  simple  annals  of  the  first  conversions  from  Paganism ; 
or  we  should  be  indulging  in-  principles  of  heathen  faith 
existing  among  some  of  the  Aborigines  here,  whom  our 
learned  inquirer  into  the  mythology  of  the  Indians  and 
their  religious  opinions — Schoolcraft — considei'S  as  regarding 
the  Great  Spirit  not  to  be  a  judge  of  their  evil  deeds,  nor 
rewarding  the  good  hereafter  for  a  noble  career  in  life ;  and 
that  they  worship  a  spirit  of  evil  no  less  than  one  of  good, 
and  indulge  in  all  the  vaganes  of  demonology.  Well, 
therefore,  might  a  higher  intelligence   and  civilization  be 


24 

anxious  to  lay  the  foundations  of  a  more  elevated  system  of 
faith  everywhere,  by  encouraging  an  independent  inquiry 
into  what  was  best  and  tnicst.  In  deciding  on  a  topic  so 
vital,  no  matter  where  our  lot  is  cast,  from  the  balmy  groves 
of  the  South  to  the  icy  drifts  of  the  Korth ;  in  poverty  or- 
affluence ;  high  in  rank  or  lowly,  the  same  duty  is  required. 
And,  with  the  exceptions  before  named,  we  may  well  be 
rebels  against  any  assumed  authority  to  control  us  there  by 
creeds,  or  councils,  or  bulls  of  denunciation,  or  dungeons, 
or  death.  Hence,  bold  inquiry,  and  the  defiance  of  reason 
to  error,  has  made  a  Luther,  a  Calvin,  a  Chalmers,  and  a 
Socrates  in  every  age.  Still  some  of  them  may  have  gone 
too  far.  Calvin  may  have  burned  Servetus ;  yet  he  has 
made  Geneva  immortal.  Socrates  was  convicted  by  the 
Athenians  for  introducing  "new  divinities  of  his  own,"  and 
this  on  tlie  same  spot  M'here  St.  Paul,  four  hundred  years 
after,  was  accused  as  "a  setter  forth  of  strange  Gods."  But 
there  is  some  limitation  even  in  this.  Let  the  individual 
mind,  after  full  search  and  consideration,  conclude  that 
there  is  a  revealed  will,  delivered  by  God  to  man,  whether 
on  tables  of  stone,  or  througli  Prophets  and  Evangelists,  or 
amidst  tlie  thunders  of  Sinai,  then  independent  research 
halts.  And  then  the  duty  of  obedience,  rather  than  further 
examination,  begins.  Then  neither  reason  nor  faith  seem  to 
require  the  exercise  of  reasoning  further,  except  to  put  a 
fair  construction  on  the  records  and  doctrines  which  are 
revealed.  Then  faith  lifts  her  telescopic  eye  to  heaven, 
and  confides  in  the  purity  and  truth  of  all  which  Deity  has 
proclaimed  as  our  guide,  however  incomprehensible  parts  of 
it  may  be  to  our  imperfect  faculties.  Then  are  room  and 
the  right  to  trust  in  others  by  faith,  and  in  all  its  marvels 


25 

and  briglitencd  liopes.  A  mightier  than  man  then  speaks. 
Such  an  one  points  the  way.  A  superhuman  power  justly 
claims  authority  to  regulate  the  mortal.  Faith  takes  reason 
by  the  hand  and  leads  her  heavenward,  when  her  own  pur- 
blind vision  falters  ;  and  the  believer,  like  honest  Bunyan, 
thus  makes  a  safe  progress  in  his  pilgrimage  through  the 
most  thorny  paths  of  this  rugged  life.  No  temple  of  reason 
is  then  to  be  raised  in  hostility,  and  no  Goddess  of  Reason 
should  shake  our  confidence  in  what  comes  from  lips  clearly 
inspired.  Subordinate,  but  nearly  allied,  is  the  revealed 
will  of  God  in  our  natures,  and  in  all  beneath,  around,  and 
above  us,  speaking  sermons  in  stones^  tongues  in  trees^  and 
insti-uction  in  every  thing.  "When  lessons  come  from  Him,, 
or  Ills  wonderful  >vorks,  whether  pluuLs,  or  shells,  or  the 
wayside  flower,  the  mammoth  or  insect,  the  thunder  gust  or 
the  zephyr,  it  becomes  us  to  receive  them  with  reverence, 
and  obedience  to  all  they  so  strongly  teach.  We  may  do 
this  without  a  surrender  of  due  independence.  They  are 
"echoes  from  the  world  of  matter."  Indeed,  they  arc 
"elder  Scripture,  wi-it  by  God's  own  hand,  scrijjturc  authen- 
tic, uncorrupt  by  man."  We  can  take  heed  to  their  lessons 
consistently  with  Christian  faith,  looking  to  their  marvellous 
formations  and  character ;  and  to  do  it  effectually,  we  need 
not,  as  whole  nations  have  done,  make  deities  of  many 
plants,  or  animals,  and  people  the  very  air  and  water  and 
earth  with  spiritual  myriads,  and  convert  even  the  sun  intO' 
a  God,  with  daily  eye  watching  over  and  controlling  all. 

Without  entering  fai'ther  on  this  occasion  upon  the  duty 
of  an  independent  private  judgment  in  religious  matters, 
it  is  obvious  that  such  duty  is  correlative  to  the  rigid  to- 
private  judgment  on  them.     It  is  this  right  that  our  fathers- 


26 

became  exiles  to  maintain ;  a  right  whose  security,  in  some 
parts  of  Em-ope,  it  has  cost  oceans  of  tears  to  support,  and 
a  right,  being  the  true  essence  of  liberty  of  conscience,  that 
is  worthy  the  blood  which  has  been  pom-ed  out  in  its  de- 
fence, and  the  sacrifices  and  toils  of  martyrs  to  uphold  it. 
Of  what  use,  too,  would  be  all  this  idolized  liberty  of 
conscience,  if  we  were  not  bound  to  exercise  it,  and  from 
all  creeds  carefidly  to  select  what  seems  the  best,  taking 
care,  as  before  suggested,  not  to  question  what  has  mani- 
festly been  revealed  to  man  by  God  himself?  Because, 
from  the  very  natm-e  of  such  a  case,  the  revealed  will  of 
our  Omnipotent  and  Omniscient  Judge  must  control  all  our 
own  views,  beino;  so  much  hio-her  and  wiser  and  holier. 
But  where  revelation  does  not  exist,  or  restrain,  howe\  er 
daring  and  dangerous  it  may  seem  to  some,  all  must  exer- 
cise independence  of  inquiry,  and  if  not  thus  harmonizing 
in  the  end,  all  may  still  agree  in  great  essentials ;  such  as 
faith  in  the  Bible  as  revealed,  faith  in  Christianity,  faith  in 
a  resurrection  and  eternity.  What  is  Protestantism  itself 
but  a  claim  to  this  right  of  private  judgment  and  action  on 
such  subjects?  "What,  indeed,  have  been  its  religious  wars 
for  centuries  of  carnage,  but  to  protest  against  penalties 
and  force  in  matters  of  religion,  and  maintain  and  secure 
this  sacred  right  when  invaded  by  persecution  ? 

In  conclusion,  it  will  be  seen  that  we  consider  this  dutv 
of  private  judgment,  as  intimated  in  the  early  part  of  our 
Address,  to  extend  more  or  less  to  every  thing,  and  as  exer- 
cised, and  exercised  well  or  ill,  to  cast  a  healthy  or  sickly 
hue  over  all  the  character  and  all  the  affairs  of  life.  Inde- 
pendence of  thought  gives  a  different  hue  to  life.  It  is,  in 
short,  felt  in  manners  as  in  morals ;  in  habits  as  in  opinions ; 


27 

in  public  as  in  j^rivate  life ;  at  tlie  iirc-sidc  as  at  the  altar ; 
and  without  it  life  is  usually  a  milk  and  water  career,  with 
as  little  of  usefulness  as  of  honor.  Our  little  bark  may 
move  its  little  round,  but  it  will  never  cross  oceans  to  im- 
prove the  world.  We  have  eyes,  but  use  those  of  others  ; 
ears,  but  listen  with  the  ears  of  om*  neighbors — taste  with 
their  palates,  talk  with  their  tongues,  feel  with  their  nerves. 
To  come  out  from  this  dull  routine,  we  must  break  down 
supine  acquiescence  in  every  thing  around  us,  without 
examination  by  and  for  one's  self.  The  eccentricities  of 
mind  and  opinion,  and  the  mldness  of  untrammeled  dis- 
cussion, which  burst  forth  in  the  world  where  all  is  free 
in  opinion,  are  sometimes  provoking,  and  often  discourage 
hopes  of  futin-e  improvement.  But  looked  at  jjliilosophi- 
cally,  and  through  a  scries  of  ages,  they  are  the  som-ces 
of  much  improvement ;  they  strike  out  new  lights  in 
the  arts,  and  in  legislation  and  government,  and  are  fre- 
quently the  CHIEF  INDICATIONS  THAT  THE  WORLD  MOVES. 


AN 


HISTOllICAL  ADDRESS, 


PRONOUNCED  BEFOKE  TIEE 


HOUSE  OF  CONVOCATION 


OF 


TRINITY   COLLECIE, 


In    CHRIST    CHURCH,     HARTFORD,     JULY    30th,    1851.- 


ON  OCCASION  OF  THE  TWENTY-FIFTH  ANNUAL  COMMENCEMENT 
OF  THAT  INSTITUTION. 


BY  THE  KEY.  E.  E.  BEAEDSLEY,  M.  A., 

RECTOR   OF    ST.   THOMAS*    CHURCH,    NEW-HAVEN. 


Ptiblished  by  order  of  the  House  of  Convocation. 


HARTFORD : 

S.  HANMER  &,  CO. CALENDAR  TRESS; 

1S51. 


ADDEESS. 


We  have  come  up  hither  to  celebrate  the  twentj-fiftU 
p,imual  Commencemeut  of  Tklnity  College.  That  some 
additional  importance  might  be  given  to  this  festival  by  the 
gathering  together  of  facts  connected  with  its  origin,  and  that 
pew  zeal  might  thereby  be  awakened  for  the  advancement  of 
the  best  interests  of  the  Institution,  the  duty  was  imjDosed 
]ipon  me  at  the  last  annual  meeting  of  the  House  of  Convo- 
cation, to  prepare  a  brief  historical  Address.  In  the  accom- 
plishment of  the  honorable  duty  thus  assigned  me,  (which  I 
consented  to  attempt  at  the  latest  moment,)  I  have  found 
jnyself  laboring  under  a  double  disadvantage. 

Trinity  College  has  no  antiquity.  It  wants  the  charm  of 
venerable  associations.  Tlie  ivy  has  not  been  creeping  so 
long  upon  its  walls  as  to  give  them  the  complexion  of  age, 
nor  have  the  steps  which  conduct  to  its  entrances  been  worn 
by  the  feet  of  successive  generations  of  scholai-s.  There  are 
no  extraordinary  statutes  preserved  in  its  archives  to  mark 
the  usages  of  a  less  enlightened  period — no  obsolete  systems 
of  College  discipline  and  College  manners — contrasting  ludi- 
crously with  the  gentler  regulations  and  freer  etiquette  of 
the  times  in  which  we  live.  Tliere  are  no  treasures  "laid  up 
in  old  historic  rolls,"  to  be  opened  as  the  necessity  requires ; 


no  traditions  and  anecdotes,  from  tlie  fund  of  whicli  one  may 
draw  material  to  relieve  the  dullness  of  his  Discourse,  and 
give  emphasis  and  variety  to  the  facts  which  he  presents. 

Intimately  connected  with  this  disadvantage,  is  another. 
Tlie  immediate  agents  in  procm-ing  the  charter  of  Trinity 
College,  and  they  who  have  contributed  most  largely  to  make 
up  its  history  are  still  living,  and  it  is  not  a  little  jDerilous  to 
speak  of  their  exertions  and  character  with  that  freedom  and 
fullness  which  the  occasion  seems  to  demand.  We  under- 
take a  nice  and  delicate  business,  if  we  attempt  the  narration 
of  events  associated  with  men  who  are  yet  upon  the  stage  of 
being.  For  the  most  part,  it  is  believed  to  be  soon  enough 
to  scrutinize  narrowly  the  policy  of  the  presiding  officers  of 
Academic  institutions,  when  time  has  mellowed  our  prejudi- 
ces and  experience  corrected  our  mistakes ; — soon  enough  to 
write  critically  the  history  of  scholars,  when  they  have  closed 
their  labors  and  gone  to  their  rest  and  reward.  But  embar- 
rassing as  these  disadvantages  have  been,  we  are  not  without 
hope,  that  the  Address  which  we  have  prepared  will  possess 
in  your  eyes  an  interest  and  a  value.  Though  we  have  had 
both  authentic  records  and  the  testimonies  of  the  living  to 
draw  from,  it  has  cost  us  more  care  to  ensure  accuracy  than 
was  at  first  anticipated. 

I  have  said  that  Trinity  College  lacks  the  charm  of  vene- 
rable associations — ^but  there  is  a  link  in  its  history,  reaching 
back  more  than  half  a  century.  For  eiforts  which  looked 
towards  the  estaljlishment  of  a  second  College  in  Connecti- 
cut, were  put  forth  full  thirty  years  before  they  were  crowned 
with  success.  This  second  College  was  the  conception  of 
men  Avho  were  not  unmindful  of  the  prejudices  of  early 
education.    Tliey  imagined  that  they  saw  the   danger  of 


training  their  sons  in  Academic  halls  where  religions  tests 
were  exacted  of  the  officers  of  instruction,  or  where  these 
officers  owed  allegiance  to  a  faith  in  many  important  respects 
different  from  their  own.  When  Dean  Berkeley,  afterwards 
Bishop  of  Clo}Tie,  returned  to  his  native  land,  having  failed 
in  the  object  for  which  he  came  to  this  western  world,  his 
example,  and  the  gift  of  his  books  and  of  his  lands  in  Khode- 
Island  to  Yale  Colleirc  were  not  lost  to  the  cause  of  sound 
learning  and  Christian  education.  His  correspondence  with 
Dr.  Johnson,  of  Stratford,  shows  him  to  have  been  a  man  of 
large  and  liberal  views.  In  a  letter  addressed  to  that  learned 
Divine  and  noble  champion  of  the  Church,  dated  July  25th, 
1751 — ^just  a  centmy  ago — he  says,  "I  am  glad  to  find  by 
Mr.  Clap's  letter  and  the  specimens  of  literatm'e  enclosed  in 
his  packet,  that  learning  continues  to  make  a  progress  in 
Yale  College,  and  liope  that  virtue  and  Christian  charity 
may  keep  pace  with  it."  Whether  Cliristian  charity  did 
keep  pace  with  it,  we  w^ill  leave  you  to  determine  by  the 
citation  of  a  few  facts  bearing  upon  the  history  of  that  period. 
IsTearly  all  the  clergy  of  the  Episcopal  Church  who  mani- 
fested a  very  decided  friendliness  to  the  welfare  of  the 
Institution  at  New  Haven,  graduated  before  its  first  Jubilee, 
About  the  time  of  the  erection  of  King's  (now  Columbia) 
College,  in  the  city  of  Kew  York,  wnth  Dr.  Johnson  at  its 
head,  there  seems  to  have  been  a  change  working  in  the 
minds  of  Churchmen.  Was  this  change  the  result  of  legis- 
lation, or  was  it  accidental  ?  President  Woolsey,  in  the  His- 
torical Discourse  which  he  delivered  before  the  Alumni  of 
Yale  College  at  the  last  annual  Commencement,  speaking  of 
President  Clap's  administration,  says  :  "the  most  character- 
istic measm-c  of  this  period  was  the  appointment  of  a  Pro- 


fessor  of  Tlicology,  and  the  establisliment  of  a  separate 
religious  society  and  chm-cli  in  the  College."  And  again, 
alluding  to  the  act  of  the  Trustees  imposing  a  test  upon  the 
officei-s  of  instruction — "the  aim  of  which  was  to  maintain 
in  their  soundness  the  faith  and  chm-ch  theory  of  the  Puri- 
tans" ;  he  adds — "I  can  find  no  evidence  from  the  College 
records  that  this  test  was  applied  for  a  number  of  years ;  but 
am  not  disposed  to  think  that  it  became  obsolete.  However 
this  was,  in  1753,  when  the  project  for  establishing  a  profes- 
sor of  Divinity  was  on  foot,  a  new  resolution  of  the  Fellows 
requu-ed  that  members  of  their  own  body,  with  the  President, 
the  Professor  of  Divinity  and  Tutors,  should  give  their  assent 
to  the  "Westminster  Catechism  and  Confession  of  Faith,  and 
should  renounce  all  doctrines  and  principles  contrary  thereto, 
and  pass  through  such  an  examination  as  the  Corporation 
should  order.  Tliis  new  provision  for  securing  orthodoxy 
was  quite  unacceptable  to  a  number  of  educated  persons  in 
the  Colony,  and  was  one  of  the  causes  why  President  Clap 
was  held  in  disesteem." 

It  appears  by  reference  to  the  Triennial  Catalogue,  that 
during  the  administration  of  President  Clap,  which  covered 
a  period  of  nearly  thirty  years,  the  number  of  graduates  who 
became  Episcopal  clergymen  was  scarcely  greater,  than  the 
number  during  the  administration  of  his  predecessor,  which 
covered  less  than  half  the  same  period.  The  parishes  in  the 
mean  time  were  multiplied  in  Connecticut,  from  various 
causes,  and  especially  from  the  influence  of  Whitefield's 
preaching,  and  were  scattered  along  the  shore  of  the  Sound, 
from  Greenwich  to  Norwich,  and  far  up  among  the  hills  and 
valleys  of  the  interior. 

It  may  be  said  that  Iving's  College  in  New  York  drew  off 
some  students,  but  the  steady  and  even  rapid  increase  of 


Episcopalians — ceteris  paribus — sliould  liavc  kept  tLe  num- 
ber good.    "We  believe  that  we  may  ti-ace  the  diminution  in 
a  great  measure  to  the  want  of  that  Christian  charity  which 
Bean  Berkeley  expressed  the  hope  might  keep  pace  with  the 
progress  of  learning.    We  can  forgive  the  rigorous  enact- 
ments of  a  period  when  there  was  but  one  way  of  thinking 
in  the  Colony,  and  when  it  was  the  fault  of  the  times  to  take 
a  narrow  view  of  the  rights  of  conscience  and  of  Christian 
liberty.    "We  can  almost  forgive — ^for  we  are  persuaded  that 
no  one  will  defend  them,   looking  back  from  the  point  of 
time  on  which  we  stand — we  can  almost  forgive  those  penal 
laws,  dictated  in  a  spu'it  of  undiscovered  intolerance,  and 
designed  for  the  manifest  perpetuity  of  the  Puritan  faith. 
But  after  the  number  of  Episcopal  families  had  very  largely 
increased  in  the  Colony,  and  after  a  Parish  had  been  organ- 
ized in  !New  Haven,  and  a  Missionary  of  the  Venerable  "So- 
ciety for  the  Propagation  of  the  Gospel  in  Foreign  Parts" 
had  been  stationed  there,  it  would  seem  that  out  of  respect 
for  their  wishes,  and  out  of  gratitude  to  Clergymen  of  thei 
Church  of  England  for  important  services  and  benefactions, 
some  relaxation  of  the  rigor  of  these  laws  should  have  ap- 
peared, at  least  so  far  as  not  to  fine  Episcopal  students  for 
preferring  their  own  mode  of  worship  on  extery  Lord's  day,* 
and  not  to  require  the  classes  through  the  whole  term  of* 
their  College  life,  to  recite  the  "Westminster  Confession  of 

•  The  fine  for  absence  from  the  College  Chapel  on  Sundays  was  four  pence — but 
Episcopal  students  were  allowed  to  attend  their  own  Church  on  Communion  Sundays. 
Professor  Kingsley,  in  a  note  to  me  bearing  upon  this  law,  says — "When  Archbishop' 
Seeker  published  in  a  pamphlet  that  there  was  a  College  in  Nev>  England,  (undoubt- 
edly meaning  Yale  College)  where  an  Episcopal  student  was  fined  for  going  on  a  Sun- 
day  to  hear  his  own  father  preach  ;— the  fact  probably  was,  and  I  heard  it  so  explained 
many  years  ago,  that  the  student  was  absent  from  the  Chapel,  was  reported  by  the 
monitor,  and  fined  for  absence — the  reason  of  his  absence  being  unknown  to  the  College 
Faculty.  You  will  not  understand  me  as  defending  the  law  wliich  required  at  that  time 
tinder  the  above  penalty,  all  students  to  attend  worship  iu  Uie  College  Chapel— except 
Episcopal  students  on  Communion  Sundays." 


8 

Paitb,  received  and  approved  by  the  Clim-ches  in  tlie  Colony,- 
together  with  AVollebius'  Tlieology  or  Dr.  Ames'  Medulla 
and  Cases  of  Conscience.     It  was,  then,  the  continuance  in 
force  of  rigorous  enactments,  and  the  adoption  of  new  meas- 
ures to  guard  the  orthodoxy  of  the  land,  which  opened  the 
eyes  of  Churchmen  to  the  necessity  for  an  Institution  more 
favorable  to  their  views,  or  rather  less  dangerous  to  the  reli- 
gious predilections  of  their  sons.    The  war  of  the  Eevolution 
operated  disastrously  upon  the  prosperity  of  the  Church,  and 
broke  U]3  our  Parishes  in  many  places.     But  after  civil  lib- 
erty had  been  secured,  and  the  Colonies  separated  from  the 
mother  country,  the  time  was  come  for  the  Church,  deprived 
of  "nursing  care  and  protection"  from  abroad,  to  rely  upon 
her  own  resources.    And  what  could  be   done   effectually 
towards  increasing  the  scattered  ranks   of  her  ministry, 
except  she  threw  off  the  shackles  of  Pmitanism,  and  became 
independent  in  the  matter  of  Collegiate  education  ?     Hence 
it  was  one  of  the  earliest  movements  of  Bishop  Seabury  and 
his  Clergy,  after  the  Eevolution,  to  plant  a  Seminary  of 
classic  learning  in  this  Diocese.    The  Institution  at  Cheshire 
owes  its  origin  to  a  resolution  adopted  by  them  in  1T92,  and 
for  a  series  of  years  it  served,  in  some  measure,  the  double 
purpose  of  a  preparatory  school  and  a  university.    In  1801, 
having  obtained  bequests  and  donations  to  the  amount  of 
about  $3000,  its  managers  prefen-ed  a  petition  to  the  Gene- 
ral Assembly,  "praying  that  they  might  be  constituted  and 
made  a  body  politic  and  coi'porate,  by  the  name  of  the  Trus- 
tees of  the  Episcopal  Academy  of  Connecticut."    The  act  of 
incorporation  was  passed — but  it  does  not  seem  to  have  come 
up  to  the  full  intention  of  the  founders,  for,  three  years  after- 
wards, in  accordance  with  a  vote  of  the  Diocesan  Convention, 


9 

the  Board  of  Tnistees  petitioned  the  (General  Asseiubly  for 
a  chartef,  empowering  them  to  confer  degrees  in  the  arts^ 
divinity  and  law,  and  to  enjoy  all  other  privileges  usually 
granted  to  Colleges.  This  petition  was  refused,  and  we  find 
them  instructed  to  continue  their  importimity,  by  the  follow- 
ing preamble  and  resolution,  entered  upon  the  Diocesan 
Journal  for  ISIO : 

"WiiereAs  doubts  have  arisen  whether  the  Trustees  of  the 
Episcopal  Academy  of  Connecticut,  which  was  established 
at  Cheshire  by  this  Convention  in  the  year  1796,  are  in- 
vested with  the  power  of  conferring  upon  the  students  the 
degree  and  testimonials  of  literary  proficiency  usually 
granted  at  Colleges;  and  whereas  the  great  objects  con- 
templated by  the  Convention  cannot  be  accomplished 
imless  the  Trustees  are  authorized  to  confer  such  degrees  j 
therefore 

Resolved^  That  the  Trustees  of  said  Academy  be  requested 
to  prefer  a  petition  to  the  next  General  Assembly  of  the 
State  of  Connecticut,  with  all  the  powers,  privileges  and  im- 
munities of  a  College." 

The  application,  urged  with  such  sanction,  was  supported 
by  a  large  majority  in  one  brancli  of  the  Legislatm-e — but 
the  Council  or  Senate  opposed  to  the  action  of  the  lower 
House  a  full  negative,  and  thus  defeated  the  Charter.  In 
1811,  the  General  Convention  of  the  Protestant  Episcopal 
Church,  understanding  that  the  establishment  of  a  second 
College  in  Connecticut,  under  the  auspices  of  Episcopalians, 
was  contemplated,  expressed  their  entire  approbation  of  the 
measure,  and  their  earnest  wishes  for  its  success.  At  that 
time,  there  was  not  a  College  in  the  Union  under  the  direct 
care  and  superintendence  of  the  Church — not  even  Columbia 
in  New  York — and  if  reliance  can  be  placed  upon  the  truth 
3 


10 

of  liistoiy,  some  cautions  measures  had  been  taken  to  keep 
in  other  hands  the  control  of  existino-  Institntions.     Another 
application  to  the  General  Assembly  for  a  Charter  followed, 
and  was  rejected  bv  botli  branches  of  the  same — thereby 
showing  no  gain  to  tlic  Church  in  Legislative  influence.* 
Diu'ing  the  vacancy  in  the  Episcopate   from  the  death  of 
Bishop  Jarvis,  all  effort  to  secure  the  long-cherished  object 
was  suspended — but  the  clergy  kept  it  in  view,  and  would 
have  resumed  it  immediately  after  the  consecration  of  the 
present  venerated  and  beloved  Diocesan,  had  not  the  loca- 
tion of  the  General  Theological  Seminary  at  New  Haven^ 
drawn  off  their  thoughts  and  support.     The  return  of  that 
Institution  to  ISTew  York  was  the  signal  for  fresh  exertions, 
and  fortunately  the  intervening  period  of  their  quiet  had 
witnessed  important  political  changes — such  as  the  adoption 
of  the  State  Constitution,  and  the  consequent  breaking  down 
of  the  reigning  dynasty — changes  which  undoubtedly  pre- 
pared the  way  for  more  liberal  legislation.     In  1823,  the 
petition  of  Episcopalians,  setting  forth  "the  expediency  of 
attempting  to  establish  another  Collegiate  Institution  in  this 
State,"  and  urging  their  claims  to  have  the  direction  of  its 
administration,  was  presented  to  the   Legislature,  and   a 
charmed  political  name,  rather  than  the  name  of  the  first 
Bishop  of  the  Diocese,  inserted,  we  suppose,  in  the  Bill  for 
a  Charter,  that  nothing  might  be  done  to  peril  its  passage. 
The  Charter  was  granted,  taking  effect  from  the  time  when 


*  In  the  author's  History  of  the  Episcopal  Academy  of  Connecticut,  there  is  a  slight 
anachronism.  Speaking  of  the  applications  to  the  General  Assembly  for  a  Charter,  it 
is  said — '-Thus  disappointed  in  the  attainment  of  their  object,  and  losing  a  portion  of 
tlic  funds  by  the  failure  of  the  Eagle  Bank,  the  Trustees  ceased  their  importunity,"  &c. 
The  failure  of  the  Kagle  Bank  was  siilisequent  to  the  chartering  of  the  College.  See 
the  "I'ctition"  in  the  Appendix  for  an  efl'ort  of  the  memo;  iaiists  to  secure  to  the  College 
a  portion  of  the  funds  ol  the  Academy  at  Cheshire; — proposing  in  this  way  to  carry  out 
the  original  intention  of  some  of  the  benefactors. 


11 

$30,000  should  be  subscribed  as  an  cudowment,  and  the 
event  was  Avelcomed  in  tin's  city,  where  the  Legislature  was 
holding  its  session,  Avith  demonstrations  of  great  rejoicing. 
Though  given  upon  the  prayer  of  E2:)iscop)alians,  and  con- 
templating their  management,  the  Charter,  as  the  petitioners 
wished,  required  that  the  College  should  be  conducted  on  the 
broad  principles  of  religious  liberty.*  It  contained  a  pro- 
vision, prohibiting  the  Trustees  from  passing  any  ordinance 
or  by-law  that  should  make  the  religious  tenets  of  any  officer 
or  student  in  the  College  a  test  or  qualification  of  employ- 
ment or  admission.  And  here  it  may  be  observed  that  up  to 
the  very  day  before  the  petition  for  this  Charter  was  present- 
ed to  the  Legislatm-e,  the  statute  of  Yale  College  in  reference 
to  tests — modified  upon  the  accession  of  Dr.  Stiles  to  the 
Presidency,  from  consent  to  the  Westminster  Catechism  and 
Confession  of  Faith  into  an  assent  to  the  Saybrook  Platform 
— was  still  in  force.  That  day,  at  a  special  meeting  of  the 
corporation,  held  in  the  city  of  Hartford,  the  obnoxious  test- 
law  was  repealed.  There  are  those  who  think  the  time  was 
thus  critically  chosen  for  its  repeal,  that  an  influence  might 
be  brought  to  bear  upon  the  minds  of  the  liberal  Legislature, 
touching  the  petition  for  a  second  College.  But  let  this  pass 
without  further  remarlc,  ISTo  sooner  was  this  Charter  granted, 
than  its  friends,  who  had  been  so  long  contending  with  the 
evils  of  popular  prejudice,  were  now  compelled  to  contend 
with  the  evils  of  poverty  and  other  discouraging  causes. 
The  amount  necessary  to  secure  the  provisions  of  the  Charter 
was,  indeed,  over-subscribed,  for  within  one  year  from  its 
date,  about  Fifty  Thousand  Dollars  were  raised  by  private 


Sec  Appendix. 


12 

subscription  for  an  endowment,  lliis  noble  subscription  was 
obtained  by  offering  to  tlie  larger  towns  the  privilege  of  fair 
and  laudable  competition  for  its  location,  and  Hartford, 
ncA'cr  wantinji  in  public  spirit  and  generous  outlays,  gained 
the  victory  over  her  sister  cities.  The  erection  of  the  College 
buildings  was  commenced  in  June,  1824,  and  the  business 
of  instruction  in  September  of  the  same  year.  But  the  funds 
subscribed  were  barely  adequate  to  this  beginning.  The 
Trustees  had  already  deputed  one  of  then*  number  to  visit 
England,  and  solicit  donations  towards  the  supply  of  a  Libra- 
ry and  Philosophical  apparatus.  He  carried  with  him  an 
Address  or  general  letter  of  introduction,  officially  signed, 
and  directed  to  the  Bishops,  Clergy  and  Laity  of  the  Church 
of  England.  It  does  not  appear  to  have  been  the  original 
intention  to  give  much  publicity  to  the  object  of  this  mission 
— but  on  the  arrival  of  the  agent,  he  foimd  himself  in  the 
way  of  other  applications  from  this  country  for  similar  aid, 
and  he  was  induced  to  print  the  letter,  together  with  a  state- 
ment of  his  own,  settino;  forth  the  necessities  of  the  Chm'ch 
here  and  the  more  important  facts  in  regard  to  the  condition 
of  the  two  oldest  Kew  England  Colleges.  The  agent  re- 
turned to  this  country,  with  the  donations  which  he  had 
received,  soon  enough  to  be  a  conspicuous  and  fearless  actor 
in  that  war  of  pamphlets  which  arose  from  "Considerations 
suggested  by  the  establishment  of  a  second  College  in  Con- 
necticut." ■"■  It  was  claimed  to  be  uncalled  for  by  the  inter- 
ests of  literature.  After  the  zealous  endeavors  which  had 
been  used  in  various  sections  of  the  State  to  prevent  the 
subscription  papers  from  being  tilled  up,  in  order  that  the 

•This  was  the  title  of  tiie  first  anonymous  pamphlet,  which  was  replied  to  anony- 
jnouBly,  and  then  a  rejoinder  followed. 


13 

Charter  Jiiiiilit  be  sociired,  it  was  perhaps  to  be  expected 
that  other  attempts  would  be  made  to  interfere  with  its  suc- 
cess— but  tliese  attempts  wore  carried  quite  too  far,  when  it 
was  represented  that  two  large  and  respectable  Institutions 
could  not  exist  together  in  so  small  a  territory — that  tliis 
College  could  only  rise  into  distinction  and  usefulness  by 
depressing  Yale  in  the  same  ratio — that  the  tendency  of  its 
establishment  would  be  to  dissipate  our  strength  and  divide 
one  prosperous  university  into  two  weak  and  languishing 
seminaries,  and  thus  to  '■Hoioer  the  standard  of  literary  attain- 
ments^ while  the  total  expense  of  education  to  the  State  was 
augmented.-'  Events  have  proved  that  fears  of  this  sort 
were  wholly  groundless.  Ko  College  in  the  Union  has  had 
a  higher  reputation  for  the  thoroughness  of  its  course  and 
the  scholarship  of  its  Faculty  than  Trinity.  So  far  from 
having  the  eftect  to  reduce  the  numbers  at  Yale  College, 
these  numbers  have  actually  increased,  and  as  to  diverting 
the  patronage  of  the  Church,  while  I  write,  there  are  some 
sementy-five  studeiits  seeking  an  education  at  that  ancient  seat 
of  learning,  who  have  come  from  Episcopal  families,  or  from 
families  having  preferences  for  the  Episcopal  mode  of  wor- 
ship. ISTor  is  this  all.  Midway  between  the  two  capitals  of 
the  State,  a  third  Collegiate  Institution*  has  been  erected  and 
endowed  by  private  and  State  beneficence,  for  the  benefit  of 
a  denomination  of  Christians,  not  disposed  until  recently  to 
pay  very  profound  respect  to  an  educated  ministry.  Oppo- 
sition, based  on  reasoning  which  has  proved  thus  fallacious, 
could  not  prevail.  Tlie  College  survival  it,  and  it  did  not 
sicken  and  die  when  the  State  afterwards  refused  to  feed  it 

*  The  Wesleyan  University  at  Middleiown,  under  the  control  of  tlie  Methodists. 


14 

with  a  tithe  of  the  bounty  which  had  been  bestowed  iqwn 
the  venerable  sister.  Its  first  President  was  he  who  scarcely 
needed  a  formal  vote  to  be  placed  in  that  office.  He  was 
the  Bishop  of  the  Diocese,  and  had  been  charged  with  the 
presentation  of  the  petition  to  the  Honorable  Legislature. 
He  had  watched  its  progress  with  solicitude,  and  witnessed 
its  success  with  delight.  Long  experience  in  Academic  dis- 
cipline had  made  him  acquainted  with  the  responsibilities  of 
the  office,  and  for  seven  years  he  filled  it  with  a  wisdom 
which  the  seventy-nine  graduates  of  that  j^eriod  will  never 
cease  to  remember.  He  was  withdrawn  from  the  adminis- 
tration at  the  instance  of  the  Diocese,  when  the  cares  of  the 
Episcopate  were  increasing  with  the  increase  of  the  Church, 
and  claiming  his  undivided  time  and  attention.  His  "Fare- 
well Address" — delivered  to  the  students  upon  the  occasion 
of  retiring  from  the  Presidency,  opens  with  a  joassage  rich 
in  tender  associations : 

"The  time  is  at  hand  when  I  am  to  retire  from  the  imme- 
diate charo^e  of  this  Institution.  It  is  an  event  which  I 
cannot  contemplate  without  some  emotion.  Having  made 
the  first  movements  for  the  establishment  of  the  College — 
having  been  engaged  with  great  solicitude  in  all  the  meas- 
ures for  procuring  its  Charter  ;  for  raising  the  funds  for  its 
endowment ;  for  framing  the  laws  for  its  organization  and 
government ; — having  presided  over  the  instruction  and 
discipline  which  has  been  dispensed  in  it,  from  its  origin  to 
the  present  time,  it  is  naturally  to  be  expected  that  my  feel- 
ings should  be  strongly  identified  with  its  interests  and  its 
prospects." 

Upon  the  retirement  of  Bishop  Brownell  from  the  Presi- 


15 

dency,  the  clioice  for  a  successor  fell  upon  the  Eev.  Dr. 
Wheaton,  another  fast  friend  to  the  Institution,  and  one  who 
could  say  in  reference  to  its  earlier  trials — 

Qnorum  pars  magna  fiii. 

Eut  liardly  had  one  lustnun  passed  away  before  he  vacated 
the  Presidential  chair,  and  removed  to  New  Orleans  that 
he  might  accept  tlie  Rectorship  of  Cln-ist  Church  in  that  city. 
During  his  administration,  -which  ended  in  18o7,  the  finan- 
cial condition  of  the  College  was  gi'catly  improved.  Tlirough 
the  indefatigable  exertions  of  the  President,  the  Hobart 
Professorship  of  Belles  Lettres  and  Oratory  was  instituted, 
and  endowed  with  funds  to  the  amount  of  $20,(XK) — contrib- 
uted by  friends  in  the  Diocese  of  Xew  York,  The  Seabury 
Professorship  was  also  commenced,  and  large  additions  were 
made  to  the  general  funds  of  the  Institution — -so  that  when 
he  withdrew  from  its  charge,  he  had  laid  the  foundation 
for  a  system  of  judicious  endowments,  which  his  own  private 
benefactions,  subsequently  yet  unostentatiously  bestowed, 
have  helped  to  foster.* 

Frequent  changes  in  the  Presidency  of  a  College  are 
always  to  be  avoided,  because  always  injurious  to  its  pros- 
perity. Care  should  be  taken  to  select  for  that  office  men 
who  are  litted  to  its  responsibilities  and  duties  by  experience 
and  attainment,  and  then  none  but  the  best  reasons  should 
be  allowed  to  produce  a  dissolution  of  the  connexion.  Tlie 
Trustees  resolved  at  length  to  fill  the  vacancy  occasioned  by 
the  resignation  of  Dr.  Wheaton,  with  one  who,  though  he 

♦The  grounds  about  ilie  College  are  beautiful  by  nature — but  from  the  first,  great 
attention  was  paid  to  their  iniprjveinent  by  the  planting  of  hedges,  shrubbery  and 
trees.  An  eye  seems  lo  have  l)een  turned  to  the  moral  mlluence  of  such  tinngs,  in  the 
elevation  and  refuienient  of  taste  and  manners.  Dr.  Wheaion  deserves  many  thanks 
for  what  he  did  in  this  way. 


10 

had  gained  no  celebrity  in  the  Church,  had  yet  proved  him- 
self eminently  successful  in  one  department  of  the  College^ 
Thus  they  chose  their  own  Professor  of  Mathematics  and 
Natural  Philosophy — the  Eev.  Sn.As  Totten,  D.  D.  His 
faithful  Presidency  extended  beyond  a  decade  of  years,  the 
most  remarkable  featm-es  of  which  relate  to  the  internal 
organization  and  condition  of  the  College,  and  to  the  erection 
of  Brownell  Hall  in  1845.*  That  same  year,  also,  an  act  of 
the  Legislature  was  passed,  permitting  an  important  change 
in  the  name  and  style  of  the  Listitution — a  change  which  we 
hope  in  God  will  "attest  forever  the  faith  of  its  founders, 
and  their  zeal  for  the  perpetual  glory  and  honot  of  the  one 
HOLY  A2fD  uxDivTDED  Teixity."  If  it  be  true  ttat  he  who 
first  turned  the  minds  of  his  Clergy  to  the  establishment  of 
a  Seminary  for  education  on  the  principles  of  the  Church, 
did  foresee,  with  dim  and  fearful  vision,  that  the  time  would 
come  when  this  very  doctrine  would  be  extensively  coi-rupted 
and  denied  in  New  England,  then  it  had  been  no  greater 
mark  of  veneration  for  his  memory  to  give  the  College  his 
own  name  than  to  give  it  a  title  w^hich  represented  the  glori- 
ous doctrine  in  whose  defence  he  wished  it  to  be  understood 
that  to  the  last,  he  lifted  up  his  voice.  Long  may  this  Listi^ 
tution  send  forth  sons  trained  to  resist  the  advancement  of  a 
heresy  so  subversive  of  the  whole  truth  of  God,  as  the  denial 
in  their  proper  and  Scriptural  acceptation  of  the  Father, 
Son  and  Holy  Ghost.  Long  nuiy  she  be  a  stranger  to  the 
spirit  of  reckless  religious  speculation — a  stranger  to  all  that 
teaching  and  ensnaring  philosophy  which  does  but  wrap  the 


*  The  Seabury  Professorship  was  filled  up  duriiif^  the  administraiioii  of  Dr.  Totten, 
and  besides  the  funds  contributed  to  the  erection  of  Brownell  Hall,  sums  requisite  to 
the  endowment  of  several  Scholarships  were  subscrited  in  the  Diocese  of  Connecticut. 


17 

soiil  in  scepticism,  and  prepare  the  way  for  a  complete  sur- 
render of  tlie  "faitli  once  delivered  to  the  Saints." 

"Wliilc  ]Jr.  Tutten  occupied  the  Presidential  chair,  the 
Trustees  enacted  certain  statutes,  "committing  the  superin- 
tendence of  the  course  of  study  and  discipline  to  a  Board  of 
Fellows,"  and  empowering  specified  members  of  the  Senor 
tus  Academicus^  as  the  House  of  Convocation,  to  assemble 
under  their  o^vni  rules,  and  to  consult  and  advise  for  the 
interests  and  benefit  of  the  College.  Time  enough  has  not 
been  given  to  these  changes  to  reap  from  them  much  advan- 
tage.   They  were  modeled  after  the  English  Universities. 

"There  has  been,  as  we  trust,  revived  among  us,"  said  he 
who  had  the  honor  of  pronouncing  the  first  Address  before 
the  House  of  Convocation,*  "something  of  the  old  and  true 
principle  of  the  University.  Not,  indeed,  in  its  ancient 
form,  nor  in  precisely  the  ancient  mode  of  its  expression. 
For  it  may  and  often  does  chance  that  a  principle  shall 
express  itself  in  diverse  outward  forms  in  different  ages, 
while  yet  in  itself  it  remains  unchanged.  Indeed,  no  exter- 
nal organizations  or  forms  within  which  principles  are 
enshrined — save  only  those  which,  being  of  divine  appoint- 
ment, are  adapted  to  every  age,  and  not  to  be  changed  by 
man — can  be  expected  to  remain  precisely  the  same,  gener- 
ation after  generation,  and  age  after  age.  For  they  exist  in 
a  world  whose  social  and  intellectual  relations  arc  continually 
changing ;  and  by  those  very  changes,  demanding  corres- 
ponding changes  in  those  external  modes  by  which  unchan- 
ging principles  are  brought  to  bear  and  do  their  M'ork, 
whether  on  individuals  or  on  masses  of  our  race." 


•  Rev.  Dr.  Williams,  President  of  the  College. 
3 


18 

Tlie  changes  referred  to  in  this  passage  were  designed, 
among  other  things,  to  retain  the  graduates  in  closer  connex- 
ion with  tlieir  Alma  Matei\  by  giving  them  a  definite  and 
fractional  participation  in  its  management.  "We  have  great 
faitli  in  any  policy  which  tends  to  secnre  to  the  College  the 
abiding  interest  and  affections  of  the  Alnmni.  Hence  one 
fact,  discovered  in  searching  the  records  for  the  material  of 
this  Address,  lias  greatly  sm-prised  us.  Tiuenty-eiglit  years 
have  rolled  away  since  tlie  charter  was  granted,  and  of  the 
Trustees  who  originally  composed  the  Board,  but  tJiree^  set- 
ting aside  the  Chancellor,  have  survived  all  change,  and 
retained  their  places  as  members  of  the  Corporation.  The 
surprising  fact  is,  that  until  this  day,*  not  a  solitary  Alumnus 
has  been  selected  to  fill  any  one  of  the  several  vacancies 
which  have  thus,  from  time  to  time,  occurred. 

But  upon  the  resignation  of  Dr.  Totten,  it  was  a  subject  of 
thanldiilness  and  joy  among  the  Alumni  of  the  Institution, 
that  one  of  their  own  number  was  invited  to  take  his  respon- 
sibilities and  carry  on  the  work  of  Christian  education.  I 
shall  not  l>e  trenching  upon  the  sacred  prerogatives  of  private 
and  personal  history,  if  I  mention  an  interesting  circum- 
stance associated  with  the  office  thus  bestowed.  The  fourth 
President  of  Yale  Colleo^e,  countins;  the  Rectorate  of  Samuel 
Andi-ew,  was  the  Kev.  Elisha  "VYilliams,  of  ITewington — "a 
man  of  splendor,"  says  Dr.  Stiles  in  his  Diary,  "who  filled 
his  chair  with  great  usefulness  and  power  for  thirteen  yeai*s," 
and  then  resigned  it,  devoting  himself  with  singular  versa- 
tility of  talent,  to  legislation,  jmisprudence,  the  army,  and 
lastly  to  mercantile  pursuits.     Tradition  represents  him  to 

*  At  a  meeting  of  the  Roard  of  Trustees,  held  in  the  morning  of  the  day  when  thi& 
Adtlrt'ss  was  delivered,  tlie  author  was  elected  a  member  of  tlie  Corporation. 


19 

have  been  a  sturdy  defender  of  the  Puritan  faith,  as  well  as 
a  good  Later  of  Episcopacy,  and  it  is  not  improvable  that  lie 
As-as  elected  to  the  office  of  President  with  au  eye  to  tiie 
astounding  and  ■[)ainful  defection  of  Dr.  Cutler  and  his  asso- 
ciates. 

The  fourth  President  of  Trinity  College  has  the  blood  of 
Rector  AVillinms  flowing  in  liis  veins,  tlioiigli  lie  wants  the 
Baptismal  name  of  his  kinsman,  lie  has  broken  away  m 
peacefidness  and  luv-e  from  the  ranks  of  the  Pilgrims,  and 
becu  placed  in  an  important  position  of  the  Chfl.rch,  to 
guard  and  foster  those  distinctive  religious  principles  which 
his  renowned  and  "splendid"  ancestor  Avas  so  zealous  to 
oppose  and  repress.  Aye — more  I  A\hilc  years  were  gathering 
u^jon  }iim  whom  we  all  delight  to  honor,  and  "around  whose 
venerable  presence  cluster,  for  so  many  of  us,  the  deepest, 
holiest  memories  of  all  om*  lives,  the  memories  of  vows 
uttered  on  earth  and  registered  in  heaven" ; — while  years 
were  gathering  upon  Mm  a  weight  of  infirmities  insupport- 
able witli  the  full  cares  of  the  Episcopate,  he  called  in  kind- 
ness for  some  one  upon  whose  shoulders  he  might  lay  a 
portion  of  his  responsibilities  and  his  duties  ;  and  thereupon 
the  Diocese,  with  almost  cntu-e  unanimity,  elected  to  the 
office  of  a  Pisliop  in  the  Chm'ch  of  the  living  God,  the  Pev- 
erend,  the  President  of  Trinity  College." 

Here  I  might  close  my  Address,  and  leave  to  the  future 
historian  the  recital  of  much  that  is  unbecoming  now  to 
utter.  Put  before  I  conclude,  let  me  direct  your  attention 
to  one  important  object  whicli  the  establishment  of  the 
College  was  designed  to  promote,  and  which,  thanks  be  to 

*  The  Rev.  Dr.  Willianis  was  elected  Assisilant  Bisliop  of  the  Diocese  of  Connecticut , 
June  11,  1851. 


20 

God,  it  lias  promoted  in  an  eminent  degree.  I  refer  to  the 
education  and  training  of  young  men  for  the  ministry  of  the 
Protestant  Episcopal  Church — to  say  nothing  about  the  zeal- 
ous and  intelligent  laymen  who  have  here  passed  through 
their  course  of  Colleo;iate  instruction.  When  Dr.  Wheaton 
visited  England  to  solicit  friendly  assistance  from  the  Chm-ch 
in  that  realm,  he  set  forth  in  his  published  statement  the 
following  among  other  facts. 

"The  number  of  organized  Episcopal  congregations  in  the 
States  falls  but  Kttle  short  of  six  Jiundred^  while  the  Clergy- 
men engaged  in  actual  j^arochial  duty,  do  not  at  present 
exceed  half  that  number.  It  is  pleasing  to  record  the  grad- 
ual extinction  of  those  inveterate  prejudices  against  Episco- 
pacy, w^hich  distinguished  the  first  settlers  of  the  country, 
especially  in  those  parts  where  the  Church  has  been  advan- 
tageously made  known  by  her  more  intelligent  ministers. 
The  candid  and  moderate,  belonging  to  the  various  sects, 
appalled  at  the  enonnous  strides  of  heresy,  are  visibly 
becoming  more  reconciled  to  the  Church,  whose  temperate 
doctrines,  consistent  government  and  edifying  mode  of  wor- 
shiji,  present  a  common  ground  of  union  not  to  be  found 
within  the  pale  of  any  of  the  classes  of  Dissenters,  (that  is, 
Sectarians.)  Nothing,  indeed,  seems  to  be  wanting  to  a 
general  extension  of  the  Episcopal  Church,  but  a  body  of 
zealous,  well-educated  Clergy  far  more  numerous  than,  with 
her  present  advantages,  it  is  possible  for  her  to  possess." 

This  was  said,  you  will  remember,  twenty-seven  years  ago, 
and  within  that  period.  Trinity  College  has  educated  more 
than  one-tliird  as  many  Clergymen  as  were  then  engaged  in 
actual  parochial  duty.  They  have  radiated  in  all  directions 
of  oui'  country,  and  carried  with  them  an  influence  which  is 


21 

not  only  impressing  itself  npon  the  minds  of  men  for  tlio 
good  of  the  Clmrcli,  but  which  will,  we  trust,  in  due  season, 
reflect  back  upon  the  Institution  where  they  were  trained  to 
become  Christian  scholars.  The  originator  of  our  Mission 
to  China  was  a  graduate  of  Trinity  College* ;  though  God 
in  His  inscrutable  Providence  was  pleased  to  lay  upon  him 
so  early  the  hand  of  disease  and  death,  that  he  was  debarred 
the  privilege  of  beginning  the  work  which  his  zealous  heart 
had  projected.  The  first  pioneer  of  the  Chm*ch  in  the  broad 
territory  which  lies  on  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  beyond  the  Mis- 
sissippi river,  and  whicli  has  since  become  an  integral  part 
of  the  Union,  was  a  graduate  of  Trinity  Collegef — who, 
two  years  ago,  w^ith  failing  health,  left  his  lone  post  of  duty, 
just  soon  enough  to  reach  the  green  hills  of  his  native  land 
and  die.  But  I  must  not  make  a  Missionary  argument  in  a 
literary  address.  I  was  desirous  of  showing  that  in  one 
important  respect  the  College  has  done  for  the  Church  what 
its  founders  and  friends  predicted  and  prayed  that  it  Avould 
do.  It  has  increased  the  ranks  of  her  ministry.  It  has  edu- 
cated for  the  clerical  profession  a  number  nearly  equal  to  the 
aggregate  of  students  who  received  their  diplomas  from 
Yale  College  in  the  first  twenty-five  years  of  her  existence. 
Having  done,  therefore,  so  much  for  education  in  the  Church, 
need  we  be  impatient  for  the  rest  ?  Need  we  really  be  dis- 
heartened, if,  year  by  year,  the  College  Calendar  shows  a 
list  not  numerous  ;  if,  for  the  next  generation,  no  throng  of 
pupils  shall  gather  within  these  walls  such  as  may  crowd  the 
benches  of  older  scats  of  learning  i     Xumbers  are  not  the 


*The  Rev.  Augustus  Foster  Lytic,  who  died  in  Ihiladelphia,  soon  after  iiis  ordina- 
tion. 
t  Rei'.  Caleb  S.  Ives,  Missionary  at  Matagorda,  Texas,  who  died  in  Vermont. 


22 

certain  test  of  academic  efRciency,  nor  will  they  always  come 
at  the  bidding  of  scholarship  and  the  best  privileges  of  lite- 
ratm'e.  O  be  content,  each  fi-iend  of  Trinity  Colle2;e,  to  sav 
in  reference  to  its  prosperity — "becanse  of  the  house  of  the 
Lord  oiu-  God" — because  of  the  service  rendered  and  yet  to 
be  rendered  to  the  Church — "I  will  seek  to  do  thee  good." 
The  more  venerable  Institutions  of  the  land  have  their  thou- 
sands of  living  Alumni,  on  whom  they  may  call  for  succor 
in  times  of  emergency,  of  j)overty  and  peril.  I  look  for 
more  than  proportionate  aid  from  kindred  sources.  I  look 
along  the  lines  of  futurity,  and  I  seem  to  see  the  wealth  of 
tlie  Church  in  JSTew  England  coming  up  with  a  liolocaust  to 
be  laid  on  the  altar  of  this  Institution — an  Institution,  as  its 
motto  imports,  created  alike  for  the  good  of  the  Church,  and 
of  the  land  :  Peo  ecclesia  et  patel\..  I  seem  to  hear,  taken 
upon  the  lips  of  grateful  scholars  and  sent  forward  through 
all  time,  the  names  of  noble  benefactors,  who,  in  winding 
up  the  stewardsliip  of  life,  have  not  failed  to  remember  the 
just  claims  of  Christian  Education,  and  so,  with  cheerful 
munificence,  have  directed  the  endowment  of  new  and 
needed  Professorships.  I  seem  to  see  the  sons  of  Trinity — 
each  one  in  his  sphere  of  life,  be  it  humble  or  be  it  exalted 
— 'vieing  with  the  zealous  Alniiini  of  an  honored  sister  in 
ministries  of  good  to  mankind  ;  resisting  with  a  firm  front 
the  advance  of  error  and  the  showings  of  a  spirit  more  libe- 
ral than  the  spirit  of  Christianity ;  seeking  as  one  of  the 
tniest  ends  of  learning,  the  inculcation  of  holiness  and 
benevolence ;  and  guarding  in  all  honorable  and  legitimate 
ways,  that  body  of  Christ  which  is  the  Church  ;  which  holds 
tlie  faith  once  delivered  to  the  Saints,  and  which  promises 
blessings  to  the  children  of  the  righteous  in  far  distant  gen- 


23 

erations.  God  grant  tliut  tliese  visions  may  be  realized,  and 
when  the  century  has  closed,  and  you  and  I  liavc  closed 
the  activities  of  human  life,  may  that  other  race  of  men  who 
shall  come  up  here  to  celebrate  the  return  of  this  anniver- 
sary,  be   all   that  we  could  desire — toe  uonest,   earnest, 

UNCOMPROMISING  ADVOCATES  OF  TRUE  RELIGION,  SOUND  LITERA- 
TURE AND  WISE  GOVERNMENT. 


APPEIDIX. 


IJctitioii 


r  O  R     THE     INCORPORATION     OF 


WASHINGTON    COLLEGE. 


*'To  the  Honorable,  the  General  Assembly  of  the  State  of  Connect- 
icut, to  be  holden  at  Hartford  on  the  first  Wednesday  in  May; 
1S23. 

"We  the  undersigned,  conrinccd  of  the  expediency  of  attempt- 
ing to  establish  another  Collegiate  Institution  in  this  State,  and 
entertaining  the  belief  that  such  an  Institution  would  meet  with  a 
liberal  patronage,  beg  leave  respectfully  to  submit  our  wishes  and 
views  to  the  consideration  of  your  honorable  body. 

"We  are  aware  of  the  great  benefits  which  have  resulted  to  this 
State,  and  to  the  general  interests  of  Literature,  from  tlie  important 
Literary  Institution  at  New  Haven,  and  we  have  no  wish  to  lessen 
its  future  usefulness  by  our  present  application. 

"We  are  members  of  the  Protestant  Episcopal  Church;  a  denom- 
ination of  Christians  considerable  for  their  numbers  and  resources 
ill  our  country  ;  and  we  beg  leave  to  represent,  that  while  all  otlicr 
reliofious  denominations  in  the  Union  have  their  Universities  and 
Colleges  under  their  influence  and  direction,  there  is  not  a  single 
Institution  of  this  kind  under  the  special  patronage  and  guardian- 
ship of  Episcopalians.  It  cannot  be  doubted  but  lliat  such  an 
Institution  will  be  established,  in  some  part  of  our  country,  at  no' 
distant  period  ;  and  we  are  desirous  that  the  State  of  Connecticut 
shall  have  the  benefit  of  its  location. 

"As  Episcopalians,  we  do  not  ask  for  any  exclusive  privileges, 
but  we  desire  to  be  placed  on  the  same  footing  with  other  denomi- 
nations of  Christians. 
4 


26' 

''Though  a  parent  may  not  be  over-solicitous  to  have  his  childreu 
eiUicated  in  a  servile  acciuiescencc  with  his  peculiar  religious  views, 
yet  he  will  l)e  reluctant  to  place  them  in  situations  where  they  will 
be  likely  to  acquire  a  strong  bias  against  his  own  principles.  If  it 
should  be  thought  expedient  to  establish  a  new  College,  your 
memorialists  are  desirous  that  it  should  be  conducted  on  broad 
principles  of  religious  toleration,  and  that  Christianity  should  be 
exhibited  in  it,  as  it  is  in  tlie  Gospel — unincumbered  with  meta- 
physical sul)tilties,  and  unimpaired  by  any  false  liberality,  or  refined 
explanations,  which  v/ould  divest  it  of  some  of  its  fairest  charac- 
teristics. 

''When  we  consider  the  rapid  increase  of  the  population  of  this- 
country,  and  the  growing  demand  for  the  facilitie>i  of  public  educa- 
tion, it  is  mauifesl  that  the  present  provisions  for  this  object  are 
becoming  inadequate.  Accordingly,  we  see  our  sister  States,  with 
a  wise  policy,  encouraging  the  erection  of  new  Seminaries  within 
their  liTnits,  for  the  purpose  of  securing  to  themselves  the  benefits 
which  naturally  How  from  them.  Should  the  inhabitants  of  the 
South  and  the  West  continue  to  rely  chiefiy  on  the  Colleges  of 
New  England,  for  the  education  of  their  sons,  as  it  seems  likely 
they  will  do,  it  surely  ought  to  be  the  policy,  as  it  is,  unquestiona- 
bly, the  interest  of  Connecticut,  to  multiply  attractions  of  a  literary 
nature.  Perhaps  the  present  College  in  this  State  already  numbers 
as  many  pupils  as  can  either  be  instructed,  or  governed  to  advan- 
tage, in  one  Institution.  But  however  this  may  be,  "we  are  persua- 
ded that  if  your  Honors  should  think  fit  to  grant  our  present  request, 
funds,  to  a  considerable  amount,  would  be  raised,  which  otherwise 
would  not  be  appropriated  to  the  support  of  literature  at  all,  or 
would  be  devoted  to  the  endowment  of  a  College  in  so^ne  other 
part  of  the  Union. 

''When  compared  with  some  of  her  sister  States,  Connecticut 
possesses  but  a  moderate  extent  of  territory,  limited  resources,  and 
a  circumscribed  population ;  but  !she  may  easily  become  pre- 
eminent, by  the  number  and  im])ortance  of  her  literary  institutions.- 
Reconnnended  by  the  general  intelligence  of  her  citizens,  mode- 
fate  habits,  cheapness  of  living,  and  ease  of  access,  it  only  requires 
that  she  should  extend  and  foster  her  L-Uerary  Institutions,  to  attract 
the  youth  from  every  part  of  o"ur  country  ;-— to  acquire  an  influence 
and  importance  in  the  Union,  which  her  physical  resources  deny 
to  her  ; — to  become  the  seat  of  science  and  literature — the  Athens 
of  our  licpahlic. 

"Your  memorialists  conclude,  with  humbly  praying  this  Honora- 
ble (leneral  Assembly  to  grant  ihern  an  Act  oj'  Incorporatiim  for  a 
College,  with  power  to  confer  the  usual  literary  honors  ; — to  be 
placed  in  cither  of  the  (Jities  of  Hartford,  Middletown  or  New 
Haven,  according  to  the  discretion  of  the  Trustees,  who  may  be 
appointed   by  your  honorable  body  :    which   act  of  Incorporation 


27 

shall  take  cfioct  wliptirvor  I'mnls  sliall  be  raised  for  the  eiulownient 
ol  tlu^  liisliuitinii,  to  the  aunniiit  ut  Tliiili/  T/iuu.sn/id  Dolhtrs,  and 
;iot  bel'ore.  And  your  memorialists  I'lirlher  pray,  that  tlie  said 
Trustees  may  have  leave  to  appropriate  to  the  endowment  of  the 
Institution,  such  portion  of  ihe  Funds  of  the  J'^piscof)al  Academy 
at  Cheshire,  or  ihe  income  thereof,  as  in  their  discretion  they  may 
think  expedient,  provided  the  consent  of  the  Trustees  of  said  Acad- 
emy he  lirst  obtained,  and  that  no  portion  of  the  Funds  contributed 
by  the  inhabitants  of  Cheshire  be  removed. 

"And  your  petitioners,  as  in  duty  bound,  shall  ever  pray." 

Circular  Letter  aeGompcmyhig  the  Petition. 

"New  Haven,  March  20,  1823. 
"Sir — The  Committee  appointed  to  prepare  a  Memorial  to  the 
Legislature  of  this  Stale,  for  the  incorporation  of  a  new  College, 
have  attended  to  that  duty,  and  herewith  forward  you  a  copy  of  the 
same,  which  you  are  requested  to  circulate  for  subscription,  through 
your  Parish.  Similar  copies  have  been  forwarded  to  every  Parish 
in  the  Diocese,  and  it  is  expected  that  they  will  be  signed  by  all  the 
Ejjiscopal  Clergy,  and  by  every  male  Episcopalian,  of  lavyful  age. 
If  any  thing  should  prevent  you  from  attending  to  this  business 
personally,  in  your  Parish,  the  Coniinittee  will  rely  upon  your  pro- 
curing so;ne  other  proper  person  to  perform  the  duty.  After  the 
signatures  are  obtained,  it  is  requested  that  the  Memorials  be 
returned  to  Charles  Sigourncy,  Esq.,  Hartford.  It  is  desirable  that 
they  should  be  in  his  hands  by  ilia  Jir:<t  day  of  the  session  of  the 
Legislature,  and  if  no  earlier  private  opportunity  should  offer,  the 
Representatives  from  the  several  towns  will  afford  very  suitable 
means  of  conveyance. 

"With  great  respect, 

"Your  obedient  Servant, 

'"T.  C.  BaowNEX,!-,  Chairman  of  the  Committee.^' 


28 


<Cl)avtcv 


O  F 


WASHINGTON    COLLEGE. 


Whereas  sundry  inhabitants  of  this  State,  of  the  denomination 
pf  Christians  called  'J'hc  Protestant  Episcopal  Church,  have  repre- 
sented, by  their  petition  addressed  to  the  General  Assembly,  that 
great  advantages  would  accrue  to  the  State,  as  well  as  to  the  gene- 
ral interests  of  literature  and  science,  by  establishing  within  the 
State  another  Collegiate  Institution,  therefore, 

Resolved  hy  this  Assembly,  That  Thomas  C.  Brownell,  Harry 
Croswell,  Elijah  Boardman,  Samuel  W.Johnson,  BirdseyG.  Noble, 
Samuel  Merwin,  Nathaniel  S.  Wheaton,  Elisha  Cushman,  Charles 
Sigourney,  Thomas  Macdonough,  Richard  Adams,  David  Watkin- 
son,  Ebenezer  Young,  Jonathan  Starr,  Jr.,  Nathan  Smith,  John 
Thompson  Peters,  Asa  Chapman,  Elias  Perkins,  John  S.  Peters, 
and  Luther  J^oomis,  and  their  successors  be,  and  the  same  hereby 
■are  constituted  a  body  politic  and  corporate  for  ever,  by  the  name 
of  the  "Tkusteiss  of  Washington  College,"  and  by  that  name 
shall  and  may  have  continual  succession  hereafter,  and  shall  be 
able  in  law  to  sue  and  be  sued,  implead  and  be  impleaded,  answer 
and  be  answered  unto,  defend  and  be  defended,  in  all  courts  and 
places  whatsoever,  and  may  have  a  common  seal,  and  may  change 
and  alter  the  same  at  their  pleasure ;  and  also  sliall  be  able  in  law 
to  take  by  purchase,  gift,  grant,  devise,  or  in  any  other  manner,  and 
to  hold  any  real  and  personal  estate  whatsoever  ;  Provided  ahrays, 
'J'liat  the  clear  yearly  value  of  the  real  estate  to  be  so  acquired, 
shall  not  pxceed  the  sum  of  fifteen  thousand  dollars  ;  and  also  that 
ihey  and  their  successors  shall  have  power  to  give,  grant,  bargain, 
sell,  convey,  or  otherwise  dispose  of,  all  or  any  part  of  the  said  real 
and  j)ersonal  estate,  as  to  them  shall  seem  best  lor  the  interest  of 
said  Colleo-e. 

11.  Resolved,  That  the  said  Trustees  and  their  successors  shall 
forever  hereafter  have  full  power  and  authority  to  direct  and  man- 
age the  Funds  for  the  benefit  of  the  Institution,  and  also  to  prescribe 
and  direct  the  course  of  study,  and  the  discipline  to  be  observed 
in  the  said  College  ;  and  also  to  elect  from  their  own  number  or 
'jllicrwisc,  a  Board  or  Connnittce,  to  be  called  the  Fellows  of  the 


20 

Golleo"c,  to  whom  they  may  commit  the  supcriiilciulfiico  of  ilie 
course  of  study  and  discipline  ;  and  also  to  select  and  appoint  a 
President  of  the  said  College,  and  such  J^rofessor  or  Professors, 
Tutor  or  Tutors,  to  assist  the  President  in  the  government  and  edu- 
cation of  the  Students  belonging  to  the  said  College,  and  such  other 
officer  or  officers  as  to  the  said  Trustees  shall  seem  meet,  all  ol" 
whom  shall  hold  their  office  during  the  pleasure  of  the  Trustees; 
Provided  ulicai/s.  That  no  President  shall  be  dismissed  by  the 
Trustees,  without  cause  previously  stated  to  him  in  writing,  and  a 
full  opporlunily  allowed  him  for  his  defence,  and  by  the  concur- 
rence of  at  least  two-thirds  of  the  Trustees  ;  and  Provided  far  I  her, 
'I'hat  no  Professor,  Tutor,  or  other  assistant  officer  shall  be  eligible 
to  the  office  of  a  Trustee. 

III.  Resolved,  That  any  five  of  the  said  Trustees,  lawfully  con- 
vened as  hereinafter  directed,  shall  be  a  quorum  for  the  dispatch  of 
all  business,  except  for  the  disposal  of  real  estate,  or  for  the  choice 
of  a  President,  or  for  the  election  of  Trustees,  for  either  oi"  which 
purposes,  there  shall  be  at  least  a  majority  of  the  whole  number  of 
'J'rustees. 

IV.  Resolved, 'Y\\[ii  the  President  of  the  College  shall  always 
be,  ex-ofiicio,  a  meml)cr  of  the  Board  of  Trustees,  and  Chairman 
or  President  of  the  same,  and  that  a  Secretary  of  the  Board  shall 
be  elected  by  the  Trustees,  to  hold  his  office  during  their  pleasure. 

V.  Resolved,  That  the  said  Trustees  shall  have  power  to  increase 
their  number  from  time  to  time,  at  their  discretion,  to  the  number 
of  twenty-four  ;  and  they  shaJl  also  have  power,  by  a  majority  of 
votes  of  the  members  present,  to  elect  and  appoint,  upon  the  death, 
removal  out  of  the  State,  or  other  vacancy  of  the  place  or  places 
of  any  Trustee  or  Trustees,  other  or  others  in  his  or  their  places  or 
stead,  as  often  as  such  vacancy  shall  happen  ;  and  also  to  make  and 
declare  vacant  the  seat  of  any  Trustee  who  shall  absent  himself  for 
any  term  of  two  years,  or  from  any  four  successive  meetings  duly 
nolified;  and  they  shall  also  have  power  to  meet  from  time  to  time 
upon  their  own  adjournmerit,  and  so  often  as  they  shall  be  summoned 
by  their  Chairman  or  President,  or  in  his  absence,  by  the  Senior 
Trustee,  whose  Seniority  shall  be  accounted  according  to  the  order 
jn  which  the  said  Trijstees  are  named  in  this  act,  and  shall  be 
elected  hereafter ;  Provided  ahvaijs.  That  the  said  Chairman,  or 
President,  or  the  Senior  Trustee,  shall  not  summon  a  meeting  of 
the  Corporation,  unless  required  thereto  in  writing,  bj-  three  of  the 
members  ;  and  Provided  also,  That  he  cause  notice  of  the  time  and 
place  of  the  said  meeting  to  be  given  in  sucli  manner  as  the  Trus- 
tees shall  in  their  By-Laws  prescribe. 

\T.  Resolved,  That  the  said  Trustees  and  their  successors  shall 
have  power  and  authority  to  grant  all  such  literary  Honors  and 
Degrees  as  are  usually  granted  by  any  University.  College,  or  Sem- 
inary of  learning  in  this  Slate,  or  in   the    I  nited    States  ;     and  in 


30 

testimony  of  such  grant,  to  oive  suitable  Diplomas,  umler  their  seal 
and  the  signatures  of  the  President  and  Secretary  of  the  Hoard, 
which  Diplomas  shall  entitle  the  possessors  respectively  to  all  the 
iinuuinities  and  privileges  which,  either  by  usage  or  by  statute  are 
allowed  to  possessors  of  similar  Diplomas  from  any  other  Univer- 
sity, College  or  Seminary  of  learning. 

\  1 1.  Ilcsolvnd,  That  the  said  Trustees  and  their  successors  shall 
have  full  power  and  authority  to  make  all  ordinances  and  By-Laws 
which  to  them  shall  seem  expedient,  for  carrying  into  effect  the 
designs  of  their  Institution;  Provided  alwai/s,  that  such  ordinances 
or  By-Laws  shall  not  make  the  religious  tenets  of  any  person  a 
condition  of  admission  to  any  privilege  in  the  said  College,  and  that 
no  President  or  Professor,  or  other  officer  shall  be  made  incligiljle 
for  or  by  reason  of  any  religious  tenet  that  he  may  profess,  or  be 
compelled,  by  any  By-Law  or  otliervvis(%  to  sul)scril)e  to  any  reli- 
gious test  whatsoever;  and  Provided  also,  That  none  of  the  By- 
Laws  as  aforesaid  shall  be  inconsistent  with  the  Constitution  and 
Laws  of  this  State,  or  with  tlie  Constitution  and  Laws  of  the  Uni- 
ted States. 

VIII.  Resolved,  That  the  Funds  which  may  at  any  time  belong 
to  the  Institution  now  incorporated,  shall  enjoy  the  like  exemptions 
from  taxation,  and  the  Institution  itself,  and  its  officers,  shall  enjoy 
the  same  privileges  and  exemptions,  as  have  already  been  granted, 
or  may  hereafter  be  granted  to  Yale  College,  its  officers,  and  its 
Funds. 

IX.  Resolved,  That  whenever  Funds  shall  be  contributed  or 
secured  to  the  said  College,  to  the  amount  of  Thirty  Thousand 
Dollars,  and  not  before,  the  Trustees  may  proceed  to  organize  and 
establish  the  said  College  in  such  town  in  this  Stale  as  they  stiall 
judge  most  expedient. 


31 


(!II)anc]ic    of  ^"amc. 

Ar  a  special  mceling  of  the  Trustees  of  Washington  Collen^e,  held 
at  ilartlbiil,  on  the  8ih  day  of  May,  A.  D.  1845,  the  foUowino- 
Resolution  \^as  passed : 

Resolved,  That  it  is  expedient  that  the  name  of  "Washin<j-ton 
College"  should  be  changed  to  that  of  "Tiiinitv  College." 

Hon.  Isaac  Toucey,  Hon.  William  W.  Boardman,  and  Thomas 
Belknap,  Esq.,  were  appointed  a  Committee  to  present  a  memorial 
to  the  Legislature  of  Connecticut,  praying  that  the  corporate  name 
of  the  College  maybe  changed  accordingly.  The  memorial  was 
presented,  and  the  General  Assembly,  then  in  session  at  Hartford, 
passed  the  following 

RESOLUTION, 

{Which  ims  approved  by  the  Governor,  Maij  2ith,  1845.) 

Upon  tlie  memorial  of  the  Trustees  of  Washington  College, 
showing  that  there  are  sundry  other  Collegfes  in  the  United  States 
bearing  the  name  of  Washington  College,  praying  for  a  chan<'e  in 
their  corporate  name,  &c. :  — 

Resolved  by  this  Assembly,  That  the  fiame  of  said  Corporation  be 
changed  to  that  of  The  Trustees  of  TRINITY  COLLEGE? 
and  that  all  grants,  devises  and  bequests  heretofore  made  or  that 
shall  hereafter  be  made  to  said  Corporation  by  its  former  name,  shall 
be  deemed  good  and  valid  as  if  made  to  said  College  by  its  presewti- 
forporate  r.ame. 


Conseroatlsm ;    Us    true    signituation,    anb 
appropriate  office. 


AN  ADDRESS, 


PRONOUNCED   BEFORE 


THE    HOUSE    OF    CONVOCATION 


OF 


TRINITY    COLLEGE, 


IN   CHRIST  CHURCH,   HARTFORD,  JULY  28th,    1852. 


BY  THE 

KEY.  WILLIAM  F.  MOEGAN,  M.  A., 

KECTOR   OP   CHRIST   CHURCH,  NORWICH. 


Published  by  order  of  Convocation. 


HARTFORD : 

8.  HAN^fER  (t  CO. CALENDAR  PRESS. 

1852. 


TO  THE  MEMORY 


OF 


THE  DISTINGUISHED  DEAD 

HEKEIN     MENTIONED, 
THIS  ADDRESS 

IS 

RESPECTFULLY      INSCRIBED 


BY  THE  AUTHOR. 


ADDRESS. 


Mr.  Dean,  and  Gentlemen  of  Convocation  : 

I  trust  it  will  not  be  deemed  inappropriate  to  this  occa- 
sion, nor  as  casting  an  unwelcome  shadow  upon  the  festive 
and  congratulatory  spirit  of  our  re-union,  if,  at  the  threshold 
of  another  topic,  I  pause  one  moment  to  speak  of  the  dead. 
Nearly  a  year  has  elapsed  since  the  whole  country  was 
summoned  to  deplore  the  sudden  and  untimely  demise  of  a 
distinguished  man.  Long  eminent  in  the  councils  of  State, 
and  at  the  time  of  his  departure,  occupying  a  high  judicial 
post,  it  was  admitted  on  every  hand  that  the  Republic  had 
sustained  a  loss ;  and  it  may  not  have  escaped  your  recol- 
lection, gentlemen,  that  the  tributes  then  paid  to  the  memory 
of  Levi  Woodbury,  ascribed  to  him,  in  his  several  capacities 
as  citizen,  legislator  and  jurist,  some  of  those  more  exalted 
traits  and  endowments  which  stamp  greatness  upon  char- 
acter. 

Had  he,  however,  been  less  conspicuous  among  his  coun- 
trymen, and  enjoyed  fewer  claims  to  the  suffi-ages  of  their 
respect  and  admiration,  we,  at  least,  could  hardly  wish  to  be 
absolved  from  making  honorable  mention  of  one,  who,  in 
obedience  to  our  call,  parted  from  the  severer  duties  of  his 
lofty  station,  and  came  hither,  even  with  the  shadow  of  death 


6 

upon  him,  to  offer  us  the  counsels  of  his  wisdom  and  expe- 
rience. AVe  cannot  forget  that  his  last  intellectual  effort  was 
made  in  this  presence,  and  upon  this  platform.  We  cannot 
forget  that  the  last  public  utterance  of  his  voice,  already 
enfeebled  bv  disease,  was  heard  within  the  bosom  of  our 
fraternity,  or  that  he  went  hence  from  this  hallowed  place 
to  the  bed  of  suffering,  and  shortly  to  the  repose  and  silence 
of  his  grave. 

Wliatever  other  or  prouder  memorials  may  enshrine  his 
memory  or  be  reared  above  his  turf — Gentlemen  of  Convo- 
cation, I  speak  the  sentiment  of  your  hearts — we  gladly 
cherish  the  recollection  of  his  virtues,  and  with  the  greetings 
of  this  anniversary,  we  mingle  those  expressions  of  venera- 
tion and  regret  which  his  character,  and  the  closing  circum- 
stances of  his  life,  might  justly  inspire.  ]^or  should  the 
admonition  be  altogether  lost  upon  us,  and  you  will  pardon 
me  if,  in  one  word,  I  venture  to  remind  you,  that  while  the 
fountains  of  human  knowledge  are  ever  fresh,  and  their 
wholesome  waters  are  destined,  as  we  trust,  to  flow  onward 
beneath  these  academic  shades,  to  remote  generations,  we 
who  now  live  shall  soon  fail  to  return  hither,  and  our  fellow- 
ship here  at  this  season  shall  speedily  be  at  an  end,  or  trans- 
ferred rather,  as  we  should  hope,  to  that  world  where 
"tongues  have  ceased  in  a  more  perfect  communion,  and 
where,  in  the  access  of  eternal  light,  knowledge  hath  van- 
ished away." 

So  long  as  we  survive,  however,  no  thought  of  change  or 
dissolution  should  lead  us  aside  from  the  jjractical  duties 
and  responsibilities  which  surround  us.  The  tokens  of  decay 
should  not  affright  us.  The  warnings  of  death  should  not 
palsy  heart  or  hand.     The  anticipations  of  a  spiritual  state 


should  not  divert  us  from  the  realities  of  this,  and  happy 
are  we  if,  like  tlic  distinguished  gentleman  who  last  ad- 
dressed us  from  this  place,  or  like  the  learned  Jarvis,  wasting 
amid  the  labors  of  his  study,  or  the  saintly  Croswell,  smit- 
ten at  the  altar  of  his  God,  or  the  faithful  Ilenshaw,  falling 
in  the  discharge  of  his  apostleship,  even  while  our  winding 
sheet  is  preparing,  we  are  wakeful  at  our  post,  and  earnestly 
at  work. 

Impressed  with  this  conviction,  let  us  pass  from  all  sad- 
dening reflections  to  a  topic  which  stands  connected  with  the 
manifest  tendencies  of  the  age,  and  which,  in  its  bearing 
and  aj^plication,  is  not  foreign  to  any  allotment  of  life,  or 
sphere  of  duty,  "We  propose,  then,  to  speak  of  Conservor 
tism  /  its  true  signification^  and  appropriate  office.  It  is  a 
subject,  as  you  will  readily  perceive,  altogether  too  exten- 
sive to  be  overtaken  within  the  limits  imposed  by  this  occa- 
sion, and  I  shall  accordingly  attempt  nothing  more  than  a 
partial  survey  of  its  leading  principles,  and  the  enunciation 
of  a  few  thoughts  which  are  most  naturally  suggested. 

I  presume  that  no  prejudice  is  more  finnly  seated  in  the 
popular  mind,  than  that  which  regards  Conservatism  as  the 
enemy  of  progress.  Nor  is  it  an  uncommon  propensity  of 
the  popular  mind,  quick  and  apprehensive  as  it  usually  is, 
to  overpass  the  absolute  signification  of  a  term,  as  well  as 
the  legitinuite  operation  of  a  principle,  and  take  refuge  in  a 
vague  and  erroneous  idea.  Where  strong  feeling  is  enlisted ; 
where  hopes  and  expectations  are  exaggerated  into  fixed 
opinions  and  glowing  prophecies,  the  intrusion  of  a  doubt, 
the  suggestion  of  a  difticulty,  are  almost  inevitably  constinied 
either  into  indiflerence  or  opposition.  There  is  a  shock  even 
when  a  slight  obstruction  meets  the  headlong  torrent ;  there 


is  a  recoil  when  the  humblest  barrier  resists  the  current  of 
the  mighty  wind  ;  so  is  there  power  in  a  moderating  word, 
or  a  whispered  misgiving,  to  revolt  the  feverish  spirit  of  an 
age  like  this,  and  turn  it  aside  in  alienation  and  distrust. 
And  were  we  to  embody  the  most  prevalent  conception  of 
the  term  we  are  about  to  discuss,  or  were  we  to  define  it 
according  to  the  phantom  shapes  of  evil  and  impracticability 
which  it  lifts  before  the  eye  of  thousands  on  every  hand,  we 
should  present  Conservatism  to  you  under  the  image  of  an 
iceberg  in  the  Southern  Ocean,  or  a  tomb  in  a  garden  of 
roses ;  a  thing  incongruous  with  the  times,  and  out  of  place ; 
an  element  of  buried  ages  proudly  assuming  the  dictatorship 
of  a  new  world,  and  a  more  hopeful  era.  In  law,  it  would 
seem  to  present  itself  as  the  very  spirit  of  endless  delay ; 
the  death's  head  of  precedents,  and  engrossments,  and  repe- 
titions, and  antiquated  forms.  In  theology,  it  would  wear 
"the  sternness  of  adamantine  orthodoxy" ;  inexorable,  pre- 
scriptive, dogmatic  ;  clinging  to  platforms  with  a  vampire 
grasp ;  riveting  itself  to  creeds  and  formularies  with  an  un- 
yielding tenacity  ;  bearing  about  the  mummy  case  of  patris- 
tic lore,  and  shaking  the  Levitical  rod  in  the  face  of  the 
people.  In  medicine,  it  would  claim  the  immemorial  right 
of  using  a  language  of  unintelligible  signs,  for  the  benefit 
of  the  druggist  and  the  grave  digger.  In  legislation,  it 
would  array  itself  in  the  trailing  robes  of  official  dignity, 
and  decorous  reserve  ;  touching  the  republican  pulse  with  a 
stiff  and  icy  finger  ;  prescribing  the  nostrums  of  expediency 
for  deadly  maladies  in  the  body  politic  ;  protecting  liberty 
by  contradicting  its  spirit,  and  overbearing  the  strongest  im- 
pulses of  its  life  with  sage  abstractions,  and  portentous 
warnings  of  danger  to  the  Constitution  and  the  Union.     So, 


too,  in  the  (Icpai-tmcnt  of  letters  and  science,  thus  miscon- 
strued, Conservatism  would  occupy  the  place  of  censor,  gi'im, 
hypercritical,  and  petulant.  It  would  stand  aghast  at  the 
rising  attitude  of  human  thorght,  and  thrust  its  pruning 
hook  angrily  into  the  topmost  branches  of  speculation  and 
exuberant  fancy.  It  would  fasten  a  Gorgon  eye  upon  every 
fresh  theory  and  every  new  fact ;  turning  the  lecture  room 
and  the  laboratory  into  a  Council  of  Ten,  before  which  mod- 
ern heresiarchs  and  innovators  were  to  be  dras-ged,  for  the 
operation  of  the  thumb-screw  and  the  rack. 

Such  a  statement,  we  confess,  may  be  liable  to  the  charge 
of  exaggeration  ;  and  it  may  be  that  we  misapprehend  the 
popular  sentiment ;  but  whence  are  we  to  gather  the  idea 
which  ardent  and  unthinking  minds  affix  to  a  term,  if  not 
from  the  development  of  that  idea  in  action  and  unconscious 
expression ;  and  guided  by  these  criteria,  I  do  not  hesitate 
to  re-affirm,  that  no  word  in  the  vocabulary  cames  with  it 
a  misconception  so  wide-spread,  or  so  fatal  to  its  true  mean- 
ing and  intent,  as  the  word  before  us.  This,  gentlemen,  is 
not  the  place  to  test  our  assertion,  but  were  any  one  of  us 
wrapped  in  the  folds  of  some  dreamy  and  ecstatic  system, 
or  borne  upon  the  tide,  and  pledged  to  the  issues,  of  some 
desperate  movement,  or  merged  in  some  central  whirlpool 
of  interest  and  emotion,  we  should  then,  instantly,  discover 
how  slight  a  discrimination  was  allowed,  between  the  spirit 
of  caution  and  reserve,  and  that  of  the  fiercest  opposition. 
It  is  natural  that  it  should  be  so  :  nay,  looking  at  the  con- 
stitution of  the  human  mind,  it  is  inevitable.  When  an  idea 
has  taken  possession  of  a  man  or  a  class  of  men,  desires 
instantly  succeed,  demanding  its  extension  and  establish- 
ment.     The  glow  of  a  new  discovery  is  felt.      The  fire  of 


10 

a  new  revelation  is  kindled.  The  glow  is  not  to  be  cooled  ; 
the  fire  is  not  to  be  quenched.  As  surely  as  an  idea  exists 
with  much  intensity,  so  surely  it  longs  to  be  diffused.  It 
must  multiply  adherents,  and  go  abroad  to  alter  or  amelio- 
rate, and  hence,  seldom  has  a  quickening  thought  entered 
the  mind  of  man  in  any  age,  which  did  not  almost  imme- 
diately give  birth  to  the  supposed  necessity  of  a  mission, 
and  never  was  a  mission  undertaken  w^hich  did  not  lead  to 
secret  and  morbid  repinings,  or  force  from  the  lips  of  irrita- 
ted and  indignant  champions,  the  thunders  of  rebuke  at  a 
world  so  passive,  and  sluggish,  and  blind.  Tliis  is  the  agony 
of  reform :  the  sea  of  tribulation  which  new  truths  and  the- 
ories must  cross,  and  it  is  not  wonderful,  therefore,  if,  amid 
the  throes  of  disappointment  and  disgust,  sound  judgment, 
with  its  cool  scrutiny  and  patient  decisions,  and  incredulity 
with  its  stare,  and  scepticism  with  its  laugh,  were  regarded 
alike  as  the  tokens  of  hostility.  Indeed  there  are  conditions 
of  mental  excitement,  when  scorn  is  far  less  annoying  than 
silence.  There  are  both  truths  and  falsehoods  on  foot  at  this 
moment  which  court  denunciation,  and  lie  in  wait  for  it  at 
every  corner,  while  they  hold  in  exceeding  dread  the  para- 
lyzing effect  of  sufferance  and  unconcern. 

And  now,  since  in  the  infirmity  of  man's  nature  I  have 
found  one  apology  for  those  antipathies  which  cluster  around 
the  popular  idea  of  Conservatism — let  me  not  fail  to  men- 
tion another  and  a  stronger.  The  idea  is  linked  to  the  worst 
associations  in  the  past.  It  is  overlaid  with  the  memory  of 
enormous  wrongs.  It  retains  the  odious  scent  of  proscrip- 
tion, and  tyranny,  and  blood.  But  why  should  Conservatism 
be  branded  with  this  reproach  ?  AVhy  should  this  term  be 
loaded  like  a  scape-goat  with  the  atrocities  of  other  times? 


11 

It  was  not  to  preserve  truth,  but  to  crush  it ;  it  was  not  to 
guide  thought  with  a  careful  liand,  but  to  hurl  it  backward 
into  the  abyss  of  midnight,  that  despots  made  it  treason  to 
think,  and  ecclesiastics  made  it  death  to  speak.  This  was 
not  Conservatism  ;  it  was  senseless  bigotry,  and  under  this 
more  appropriate  name  we  are  prepared  to  accept,  and  re- 
iterate to  the  last  echo  any  denunciation  which  may  be  lev- 
elled at  it.  We  know  full  well,  and  we  can  add  nothing  to 
your  information  on  this  point,  gentlemen,  that  through  long 
periods,  stretching  like  deserts  upon  the  face  of  history,  a 
most  destructive  principle  held  sway  ;  and  it  held  a  sway, 
we  are  to  remember,  as  powerful  under  systems  which  were 
devised  to  promote  the  interests  of  states  and  individuals, 
as  under  tyrannies  which  were  erected  to  destroy  them.  I 
know  not  where  we  shall  find  a  heavier  yoke  placed  upon 
the  activities  of  thought  and  opinion,  than  in  some  of  the 
commonwealths  of  ancient  Greece.  The  worst  elements  of 
a  destructive  Conservatism,  if  you  please  so  to  call  it,  may 
be  found  in  the  laws  of  Lycurgus.  The  object  of  those  laws 
was  the  protection  of  the  people.  Eira^ia  was  written 
upon  the  whole  code,  but  their  tendency  and  effect  was  to 
bring  the  people  under  a  universal  restraint,  and  reduce 
them  to  the  condition  of  domestic  animals,  kept  in  comfoi-t 
and  luxury  perhaps ;  educated,  refined,  and  yet  slaves.  The 
citizen  was  regarded  as  no  better  than  an  appendage  to  the 
state.  The  state  absorbed  his  individuality  :  it  left  him  with 
no  control  over  his  personal  rights  and  daily  concerns  ;  it 
bound  him  to  one  spot ;  it  cramped  his  intellectual  freedom ; 
thought  for  him  ;  felt  for  him ;  acted  for  him,  and  all  under 
the  cover  of  securing  his  highest  welfare,  and  it  would  be 
idle  for  me  to  express  the  abhorrence  which  such  a  system 


12 

of  mental  and  moral  outrage  should  awaken.  If  it  was 
Conservatism,  as  has  been  asserted,  then,  also,  it  was  a  curse, 
for  with  all  the  accessories  of  material  civilization,  it 
brought  an  overwhelming  pressure  upon  all  genius,  and  all 
thought.  Kindred  to  this  policy  was  that  which  in  later 
times  laid  an  iron  hand  upon  the  inventive  faculty.  Then 
to  originate  was  a  crime,  and  to  move  one  hair's  breadth 
from  the  track  of  ages  towards  a  new  principle,  was  to  invite 
a  remorseless  persecution.  For  this  cause  the  book  of  Co- 
pernicus was  burned,  and  Galileo  condemned  to  the  vaults 
of  the  Inquisition.  Papal  bigotry  had  decreed  midnight. 
The  sun  was  not  to  rise.  The  alj^habet  of  knowledge  was 
to  be  conned  everlastingly.  This  same  narrow  prejudice 
led  a  Bishop  and  Chancellor  qf  England^  to  thank  God  that 
he  had  never  yet  been  the  author  of  any  one  new  thing, 
and  so  on  even  to  more  recent  centm-ies,  nay  even  to  the 
recollection  of  living  men,  neglect  and  scorn  have  dogged 
the  footsteps  of  discovery.  It  is  a  thrice-told  tale,  that  the 
advances  of  truth  have  been  resisted,  step  by  step,  and  the 
noblest  inspirations  of  her  throbbing  heart  stifled,  by  imped- 
iments which  jealousy  and  selfishness  have  thrown  upon  her 
path.  Yain  and  worse  than  vain  is  the  concealment  of  the 
fact,  that  human  nature  stands  dishonored  by  its  guilty 
league  with  ignorance,  and  its  readiness  to  repel  blessings, 
moral,  physical,  intellectual ;  blessings  now  as  indispensable 
to  man's  comfort  and  his  elevation,  as  the  atmosphere  to  his 
life,  which  nevertheless  have  been  born  amid  sneers,  and 
baptized  at  the  fountains  of  bitterness  and  unbelief.     We 

•  "Brother  of  Winchester,"  said  Cranmer  to  Lord  Chancellor  Gardyner,  "You  like 
not  any  thing  new  unless  you  be  yourself  the  author  of  it." 

"Your  Grace  wrongeth  me,"  replied  Gardyner;  "I  have  never  been  author  yet  of 
any  one  new  thing,  for  which  I  thank  my  God." — Campbell's  Lives  of  the  Chan- 
cellors, Vol.  ii.  cap.  40,  p.  51. 


13 

are  not  to  count  it  a  strange  thing,  therefore,  that  a  word  or 
a  principle  associated  with  such  memories  should  long  con- 
tinue to  endure  the  penalty  of  its  frightful  perversion. 

But,  gentlemen,  we  who  would  judge  rightly  are  not  to 
disown  this  word  on  the  score  of  its  misuse  ;  or  the  grand 
idea  of  which  it  is  the  symbol,  on  the  charge  of  its  misdi- 
rection. As  well  might  we  repudiate  the  term  democracy, 
because  we  liked  not  altogether  the  democracy  of  Athens, 
or  cast  off  the  name  of  our  confederacy,  because  we  dis- 
owned that  abomination  of  desolations  set  up  in  the  temple 
of  freedom  by  republican  France,  falsely  so  called.  Instead 
of  discarding,  we  will  endeavor  to  reclaim.  If  Conserva- 
tism has  been  committed  to  false  issues,  and  made  the  in- 
strument of  destniction  and  outrage,  we  will  not  imitate  the 
spirit  which  forced  it  to  such  uses.  It  is  a  principle  which 
cannot  be  surrendered.  It  is  an  agent  of  unmeasured  be- 
neficence to  man,  and  when  clothed  with  its  legitimate  attri- 
butes, and  assigned  to  its  proper  offices,  its  effectual  working 
is  beyond  aU  comparison  more  salutary  upon  the  age,  better 
calculated  to  serve  the  grand  behests  of  truth,  whether  in 
religion,  or  legislation,  or  science,  than  any  other  influence 
that  can  be  named. 

Apart,  then,  from  all  existing  prejudices,  let  us  regard 
sound  Conservatism  in  its  fitting  light.  It  has  a  meaning. 
What  is  it?  I  accept  the  definition  of  a  great  lexicographer. 
It  is  the  desire  and  the  effort  to  preserve  established  truth. 
And  if  this  indeed  be  the  fair  sense  of  the  term,  what  could 
be  more  Catholic  or  comprehensive.  It  is  not  to  preserve 
old  truth,  or  new  truth,  as  such,  but  all  truth.  So  far  from 
being  limited  to  periods,  whether  remote,  or  present,  or  to 
come,  it  acts  through  all  time  as  the  guardian  of  truth.     It 


14 

is  in  union  with  all  legitimate  progress  from  the  beginning 
onward,  even  to  the  measure  of  eternity.  Not  confined  to 
one  department,  it  has  to  do  with  all.  Truth  is  the  object 
of  its  concern,  and  its  care,  whether  embodied  in  homely 
and  practical  forms,  or  mingling  with  aesthetic  tastes,  or 
enthroned  upon  the  eminences  of  metaphysical  and  spiritual 
science.  It  is  a  principle  diverse  from  dogmatism  or  a 
dainty  eclecticism,  for  its  province  is  to  recognize  truth  and 
own  it,  under  all  its  conditions,  whether  it  beams  forth  in 
crystal  transparency,  or  is  obscured  and  hidden  by  awkward 
expression — whether  it  is  colossal  in  its  breadth  and  grand- 
eur, or  is  unhappily  entangled  in  the  webs  of  human  spec- 
ulation. 

But  I  return  to  the  definition.  The  property  of  Conserv- 
atism is  not  passive.  A  desire  and  an  efibrt  belong  to  it. 
Its  duty  is  something  more  than  that  of  a  janitor  waiting 
lazily  at  the  gates  of  truth,  protecting  old  guests,  and  receiv- 
ing new  comers.  It  is  rather  that  of  a  judge,  sitting  in  the 
vestibule  of  her  temple,  serene  of  aspect,  but  inexorably 
severe  in  scrutiny  and  decision.  And,  if  I  might  continue 
the  metaphor,  I  should  say  that  there  is  no  trace  of  a  frown 
upon  his  brow,  to  discourage  or  repel,  but  an  awful  repose 
dwells  there,  like  the  shadow  of  a  sublime  trust,  and  an  un- 
measurable  responsibility.  Behind  him,  in  the  open  courts 
and  solemn  recesses  of  that  majestic  abode,  are  the  gathered 
forms  of  truth,  admitted  there  one  after  another,  "through 
the  ages  all  along" ;  a  mighty  concourse  of  distinct  and 
well-established  j^rinciples ;  not  altogether  free,  it  may  be, 
from  the  stain  or  distortion  of  human  contact,  nor  beyond 
the  reach  of  a  higher  finish  and  development,  but  sterling 
and  imperishable,  dwelling  together  in  harmony,  and  bathed 


15 

in  that  divine  light  wliich  streams  throuj^li  the  resplendent 
dome,  from  the  One  Source  of  all  truth,  the  mind  of  God. 
Before  him  stands  an  expectant  throng  of  applicants,  seek- 
ing admission  for  some  favorite  thought  or  pregnant  discov- 
ery. Here  are  thr.se  who  approach  in  the  modesty  of  true 
science,  and  there,  those  who  are  trumpeting  the  praises  of 
their  idol.  ,  Some  ask  no  more  than  a  patient  audience,  and 
a  fair  adjudication,  and  others,  as  if  delay  were  to  be  a 
world-wide  disaster,  would,  if  unrestrained,  rush  headlong  in- 
to the  holy  place,  and  trampling  down  all  accepted  forms  of 
truth,  bear  their  wretched  counterfeit  to  the  highest  seat  of 
honor.  If  Conservatism,  therefore,  is  a  pains-taking  quality, 
and  is  to  act  as  judge  and  arbiter,  it  has  a  stupendous  work 
in  hand.  Truth  already  established,  is  of  course  within  its 
keeping,  but  it  has  another  and  more  laborious  task  in  the 
encounter,  and  the  trial  of  those  fresher  and  intenser  forms, 
which  press  upon  its  notice.  It  must  not  be  despotic.  It 
must  not  be  timorous.  Not  one  living  verity  must  be  denied 
access  to  the  enclosure.  Not  one  specious  falsehood  must 
be  allowed  to  touch  its  threshold. 

But  still  again,  I  refer  to  our  definition.  The  end  of  Con- 
servatism is  the  preservation  of  truth.  In  order  to  this,  is  it 
required  that  truth  should  be  forever  tied  up  to  its  original 
or  accidental  relations  ?  We  think  not.  There  are  truths 
which  can  never  again  be  put  to  their  first  uses.  The  occa- 
sion which  called  them  forth,  or  the  age  which  could  grace- 
fully appropriate  them,  have  passed  away ;  and  if  they  are 
to  stand  j^ledged  to  their  first  connections,  then  also  they 
stand  chained  to  a  body  of  death  ;  as  valueless,  though  as 
beautiful,  as  the  ivy  which  flings  its  soft  fringes  over  the 
decay  of  some  old  monastic  pile.    There  is  a  dead  past,  no 


16 

more  to  be  quickened  or  reproduced ;  but  tlie  truths  wliich 
once  dwelt  in  its  bosom,  and  gave  it  vitality,  are  not  dead ; 
they  are  not  to  be  coffined  or  entombed  with  the  body  which 
they  have  ceased  to  animate.  Tliey  live.  They  cannot  per- 
ish. They  should  not  be  smothered  in  the  catacombs  of  th^ 
past ;  and  we  claim,  therefore,  for  Conservatism  a  disinte- 
gra^"ing  and  moulding  power,  which  shall  seize  and  adapt 
them  to  the  shifting  postures  of  life  and  thought.  This  is  to 
secure  their  truest  preservation.  This  is  to  retain  the  fresh- 
ness of  their  life.  This  is  to  give  them  an  honorable,  be- 
cause a  useful  perpetuity.  For  what  is  truth  worth  to  this 
or  any  age,  when  it  is  presented  in  shapes  so  angular  and 
old-fashioned  as  to  be  out  of  harmony  with  all  surrounding 
things  ?  What  useful  or  practical  end  can  it  accomplish 
when  it  comes  sheathed  in  its  primitive  husks,  or  so  bediz- 
ened and  stiff  in  its  antiquated  attire,  as  to  provoke  the  won- 
der and  the  ridicule  of  all  beholders.  Unquestionably  there 
are  elements  of  trutii  which  cannot  thus  be  dislodged  from 
their  original  conditions.  Of  such  we  say  freely,  the  old  is 
better.  They  cannot  be  improved,  or  wrought  into  combina- 
tions which  shall  give  them  greater  vigor  or  effect.  There  are, 
for  instance,  lines  and  proportions  of  beauty  in  ancient  art  and 
mediaeval  architecture,  which  body  forth  truth  to  perfection, 
and  which,  w^ith  all  our  attempts  at  imitation,  are  unap- 
proachcd.  There  are  models  of  skill  and  manifestations  of 
power,  which  we  do  well  never  to  lose  sight  of — striving,  how- 
ever vainly,  to  divine  their  secret.  There  are  thoughts  which 
can  never  be  deposited  in  richer  caskets ;  principles  which 
can  never  be  tabernacled  in  more  accurate  formulas ;  histo- 
ries and  treatises  which  can  never  be  shrined  in  purer  lan- 
guage.    These  are  to  abide  forever.     Tliey  are  to  be  cher- 


17 

ished  and  studied  with  a  reverential  spirit,  not  so  much 
because  they  are  ancient,  as  because  they  are  admirable, 
and  satisfy  the  universal  mind.  A  sound  Conservatism  will 
guard  them  well,  and  hold  them  forth  to  the  eye  of  tliis  and 
every  age.  But  not  so  with  what  is  grotesque  and  extrava- 
gant ;  not  so  with  what  is  cumbrous  and  unwieldy  ;  not  so 
with  those  envelopments  of  truth,  which,  instead  of  ex- 
pressing, greatly  obscure  it.  These  and  such  as  these,  will 
not  be  retained,  through  a  blind  veneration  for  the  past. 
Nor  will  they  be  scornfully  rejected,  but  gradually  and 
wisely  conformed  to  the  actual  interests  and  demands  of 
living  men.  And  herein,  if  I  may  venture  to  repeat  the 
declaration,  herein  consists  the  most  exalted  exercise  of 
Conservatism,  the  moulding  and  harmonizing  of  all  truth, 
however  old,  or  rude  in  its  attire,  so  as  to  make  it  useful  and 
effective  now^  within  this  passing  hour  of  time.  And  in 
saying  this,  let  me  pointedly  disclaim  any  especial  idolatry 
for  the  present.  We  are  not  disposed  to  magnify  it  above 
measure.  With  all  its  goodly  signs,  and  sure  tokens  of 
advancement,  we  see  something  of  its  folly,  and  know  that 
many  of  its  vaunted  "activities"  might  rather  be  regarded 
as  the  antics  and  contortions  of  ungovernable  phrenzy.  And 
for  this  very  reason,  if  for  no  other,  we  maintain  that  all 
truth  of  all  time  should,  with  a  wise  discretion,  be  pressed 
into  its  service,  and  so  as  to  find  the  widest  currency.  The 
coins  of  the  antiquarian  may  enjoy  a  very  graceful  accom- 
modation upon  the  shelves  of  his  cabinet.  Tliey  may  be 
impressed  with  many  a  strange  and  curious  device.  They 
may  have  the  ring  of  the  true  metal — but  except  to  himself 
and  kindred  virtuosi,  they  are  worthless.      Tliey  must  pass 

to  the  hand  of  the  mint-master,  and  be  stamped  with  anoth- 
2 


18 

er  ima^e  and  superscription  before  tliey  can  reach  the  chan- 
nels of  a  wholesome  circulation.     The  tastes  of  the  antiqua- 
rian, however,  need  not  be  disturbed.     For  one,  we  would 
protect  and  honor  them.     His  store  of  curiosities  need  not 
be  despoiled — for  the  mines  -of  earth  can  furnish  the  virgin 
ore,  in  quantities  more  than  sufficient  to  tempt  the  rapacity 
and   corrupt  the  heart  of  a  money-loving  world.     But  the 
virgin  ore  of  truth  is  not  so  abounding ;  its  freshly-opened 
veins  are  not  so  prolific  as  to  allow  that  any  portion  of  its 
solid  metal,  however  cankered  or  antique,  should  be  seques- 
tered, and  made  the  plaything  of  modeiTi  amateurs.     It  is 
too  rare  and  precious  a  substance  to  be  preserved  in  the 
shape  of  relics  ;    too  vital  and  energizing  to  be  labeled,  and 
laid  apide  in  cases ;   too  divine  and  immortal  to  be  impris- 
oned in  well-arranged  alcoves.    Tlie  world  requires  it ;  re- 
quires it  all.     She  requires  it  for  practical  uses  in  ten  thou- 
sand spheres  of  effort,  mental  and  material.     She  requires 
it  for  the  productive  power  of  skill  and  handicraft ;  for  the 
formation  of  thought  and  opinion,  for  the  cultivation  of 
taste,  for  the  expansion  of  law,  for  the  direction  of  benefi- 
cence, for    the   advancement  of  sound   learning  and  phi- 
losopy;    nay,  for    every  humble  and  every  lofty  interest 
which  may  conduce  to  the  happiness  and  elevation  of  man- 
kind ;  and  we  are  strongly  persuaded,  that  so  far  as  truth  is 
withheld  or  cramped,  or  in  any  way  made  impracticable,  so 
far  will  brawny  hands  and   fiery  spirits  be  multiplied  to 
work  out  falsehood  and  error,  upon  the  anvils  of  impiety. 

Now  it  may  be  thought  from  this  rapid  analysis  of  the 
term  Conservatism,  that  we  are  disposed  to  contradict  its 
most  obvious  principle,  and  regard  it  only  as  the  servant, 
or  at  most,  the  guiding  element  of  modem  energy  and 


19 

reform.  It  may  be  said  that  its  real  dignity  is  sacriticed, 
\Tlieii,  stepping  down  from  its  pedestal,  it  seeks  to  preserve 
old  truth,  by  adapting  it  to  the  spirit  and  circumstances  of  a 
new  age,  and  furthermore,  it  may  be  alleged  that  in  making 
it  tlius  subservient  to  what  is  actual  and  practical,  we  over- 
look a  large  class  of  sentiments  and  emotions  which  have 
been  accustomed  to  rely  upon  its  protection.  We  are  not 
conscious  of  any  such  misuse  or  degradation  of  the  term  ; 
for  we  shall  be  the  last  to  concede  the  point,  that  in  making 
truth  available  or  useful.  Conservatism  is  violated  in  one 
principle,  or  its  dignity  impaired,  or  its  aim  made  hostile  to 
any  lawful  passion  of  the  human  soul. 

There  is  a  Conservatism  which  may  be  thus  jealous  of 
truth  ;  fearful  of  its  contact  and  affiliation  with  the  universal 
mind.  It  is  the  element  which  sometimes  dwells,  as  we 
have  seen,  in  false  and  pernicious  systems.  The  Conserva- 
tism which  would  fix  the  bounds  of  progress  by  an  un- 
changeable decree,  and  legalize  tyranny  by  ascribing  to  it 
the  last  touch  of  perfection.  The  representative  of  such  a 
principle  may  be  found  in  Paul  Sarpe,  of  Venice,  whose 
dying  exclamation  over  the  constitution  of  that  atrocious 
republic  was,  Esto  perpetua.*  Such  a  principle  is  heavy 
laden  with  its  own  execration.  13ut  we  are  speaking  of  a 
sound  and  rational  Conservatism.  It  is  stable,  but  is  not 
opposed  to  action  and  movement.  It  is  the  friend  of  order, 
but  is  not  convulsed  at  the  thought  of  change.  In  a  word, 
confident  in  the  immortality  of  truth,  it  has  no  fear  that  it 
will  be  too  widely  dift'used,  or  accommodate  itself  too  flexi- 


•  We  cast  no  rpproach  upon  "Father  Paul."  His  patriotism  was  unquestioned,  and 
his  aspirat.ons  for  tlie  glory  of  his  country  were  kindled  liy  an  honest  spirit ;  and  yet, 
content  with  the  horrid  phantom  of  liberty,  he  would  have  honored  it  with  an  apo- 
theosu. 


20 

blj  to  the  processes  of  society  or  the  changes  of  civilization, 
or  be  Tiilgarized  and  debased  by  taking  its  way  through  the 
common  avenues  of  life  and  experience.  And  if  I  might 
bring  before  you  a  representative  of  this  generous  principle, 
I  would  mention  the  name  of  that  master  spirit  in  the  realm 
of  science,  Sir  John  Ilerschel.  I  think  it  will  be  admitted 
that  he  occupies  a  seat  sufficiently  high  to  secure  him  against 
the  accusation  of  radicalism.  I  think  it  will  be  confessed, 
that  no  man  of  this  or  any  age  might  more  consistently  wrap 
himself  in  the  disdain  of  a  lofty  exclusiveness,  and  stand 
aloof  from  his  fellow-men  in  the  dignity  and  isolation  of  an 
autocrat,  than  he.  So  much  the  more  cordiallv  do  we  vield 
him  the  ascription  of  honor ;  for  we  feel  that  his  good  sense 
is  equal  to  his  genius,  nay,  a  prime  quality  of  it,  and  that 
his  enlargement  of  soul  bears  a  due  proportion  to  his  intel- 
lectual pre-eminence,  when  we  see  him  turning  away  from 
the  stars  ;  coming  forth  and  descending  from  the  penetralia 
of  the  Infinite,  that  he  may  bless  the  humblest  votary  of 
knowledge,  and  spread  through  the  world  the  inspiration 
and  the  fruit  of  his  marvellous  discoveries. 

In  a  discourse  upon  "The  influence  of  science  on  the  well- 
being  and  progress  of  society,"  he  utters  the  following  sen- 
timents. "Let  those  who  enjoy  the  higliest  advantages  of 
intellectual  culture,  be  careful  to  secure  the  lower  links  in 
the  chain  of  society  from  dragging  in  dishonor  and  wretch- 
edness. Tlie  truth  itself  demands  this  at  their  hands,  as 
well  as  the  necessities  of  men ;  for  knowledge  can  neither 
be  adequately  cultivated  nor  adequately  enjoyed  by  a  few. 
It  is  not  like  food,  destroyed  by  use,  but  rather  augmented 
and  perfected.  There  is  no  body  of  knowledge  so  complete 
but  that  it  may  receive  accession,  or  so  free  from  error,  but 


21 

that  it  may  receive  correction  in  passing  througli  the  mindg 
of  millions ;  and  those,  therefore,  who  admire  and  love 
knowledge  for  its  own  sake,  should  strive  to  make  its  ele- 
ments accessible  to  all,  were  it  only  that  thej  may  be  more 
thoroughly  examined  into,  and  more  effectually  developed 
in  their  consequences,  and  receive  that  ductility  and  plastic 
(piality,  which  the  pressure  of  minds  of  all  descriptions, 
constantly  moulding  them  to  their  purposes,  can  alone  be- 
stow. But  to  this  end  it  is  necessary  that  it  should  be  di- 
vested, as  far  as  possible,  of  artificial  difficulties,  and  strip- 
ped of  all  such  technicalities  as  tend  to  place  it  in  the  light 
of  a  craft  or  a  mystery.  Science,  of  course,  like  every  thing 
else,  has  its  own  peculiar  terms,  and,  so  to  speak,  its  idioms 
of  laniruasre,  and  these  it  would  be  unwise,  were  it  even 
possible,  to  reliu(|uish ;  but  every  thing  that  tends  to  clothe 
it  in  a  strange  and  repulsive  garb,  and  especially,  every 
thing,  that,  to  keep  up  an  appearance  of  superiority  among 
its  professors  over  the  rest  of  mankind,  assumes  an  unneces- 
sary guise  of  obscurity  or  profundity,  should  be  sacrificed 
without  mercy.  ISTot  to  do  this  is  deliberately  to  reject  the 
light  which  the  natural,  unencumbered  good  sense  of  man- 
kind is  capable  of  throwing  on  every  subject,  even  in  the 
elucidation  of  principles.  The  whole  tendency  of  emi)iri- 
cism  is  to  bury  itself  in  mystic  phrases ;  but  the  delight  of 
true  science  is,  to  lay  itself  open  to  inquiry ;  to  make  the 
road  to  its  conclusions  broad  and  beaten.  Its  whole  aim  is 
to  prune  away  all  technical  mystery  ;  to  illuminate  every 
dark  recess,  and  to  invite  the  closest  scrutiny  of  eager 
minds." 

Such  sentiments,  gentlemen,  will  commend  themselves  to 
your  approbation.     You  perceive  their  drift.     They  bestow 


dignity  upon  trutli  by  the  very  confidence  which  they  breathe 
in  its  power  to  stand  the  ordeal  of  universal  diffusion.  They 
encourage  such  diffusion,  not  only  for  the  preservation  of 
truth,  but  for  its  improvement,  and  this  we  hold  to  be  the 
very  essence  of  a  just  Conservatism. 

I  pass  for  one  moment  to  the  other  objection  which  was 
named,  to  wit,  that  this  interpretation  of  the  principle  must 
operate  unfavorably  upon  certain  instincts  and  emotions 
which  are  natural  to  man,  which,  also,  are  noble  and  eleva- 
ting, such  as  veneration  for  antiquity,  and  those  poetical 
sentiments  which  are  enkindled  by  its  decay  and  desolation, 
and  leave  them  to  become  extinct,  in  the  bosom  of  a  plod- 
ding, common-place  world.  There  may  be  a  certain  measure 
of  force  in  this  complaint,  at  least  I  have  known  it  to  be 
urged  with  considerable  gravity  by  men  who  appeared  to 
think  that  there  should  be  an  entire  surrender  of  the  past 
to  the  contemplative  faculty.  Nor  would  I  consciously  over- 
look the  fact,  that  human  culture  involves  something  more 
than  an  acquaintance  with  the  reality  of  things.  The  wide 
realm  of  utility  is  not  the  only  empire  of  the  soul.  Action 
and  availability  are  not  the  only  sources  of  its  life  or  its  joy; 
and  that  mode  of  existence  is  lamentably  false,  which  lean- 
ing earthward  forever,  allows  no  play  to  the  subtle  tastes, 
and  diviner  susceptibilities  of  our  nature.  But  where,  after 
all,  is  the  conflict  between  the  principle  we  have  stated,  and 
the  most  refined  enjoyment  of  the  ideal,  the  universal  and 
the  remote. 

"Nihil  sine  aetate  est,  omnia  tempus  expectant." 

Neither  the  monuments  of  the  past,  nor  its  venerable  asso- 
ciations, are  annihilated,  because  the  truths  once  lodged  in 
them  have  become  the  common  property  of  the  world,  and 


28 

are  turned  to  better  account.     I  know  not  that  Xinevch  has 
been  deprived  of  its  mysterious  charm  by  tlie  researches  of 
Layanl.     I  have  yet  to  learn  that  tlie  crumbling  memorials 
of  Grecian  art  and  literature  are  less  likely  to  awaken  rev- 
erence, because  the  spirit  of  both  survives  to  quicken  living 
souls,  in  numbers  which  no  man  can  number.     The  bones  of 
Plato  and  Sophocles  are  not  disinterred  ;    the  scenes  which 
they  hallowed  are  not  defiled,  because,  this  day,  the  whole 
world   is   better  for  the  wisdom  and  the  beauty  they  left 
behind,     Kome  is  none  the  less  magnificent  in  her  ruins ; 
the  spells  of  her  enchantment  are  none  the  less   powerful, 
because  the  elements  of  her  manners  and  her  laws  are  dis- 
tributed among  all  the  civilized  nations  of  the  earth.     We 
take  the  ground  that  the  more  the  past  is  incorjjorated  with 
the  present,  so  much  the  more  will  it  be  honored  and  rever- 
enced.    The  more  the  si:>irit  of  its  truth  is  gathered  up,  the 
more  it  is  sifted  and  wrought  over  into  fresher  forms  of  life 
and  action,  so  much  the  more  will  its  sources  be  consecra- 
ted ;  so  much  the  mo"re  will  pilgrim  feet  turn  aside  to  visit 
its  tombs  and   temples ;  so  much  the  more  will  its  gigantic 
fragments  evoke  the  inmost  soul  of  imagination,  and  elo- 
quence, and  passionate  song.     It  is  sometimes  remarked  in 
the  same  querulous  temper,  that  because  we  have  not  the 
visible  remains  of  antiquity  in  our  midst,  therefore  the  spirit 
of  poetry  must  deal  with  homely  themes,  and  trail  her  celes- 
tial garments  in   the  dust.     We   are   forced  to  deny  the 
assum})tion.     It  is  fiilse.     The  past  is  with  us — all  that  ia 
imporis^hable  about  it  is  here.     If  a  narrow  Conservatism 
has  ever  attempted  to  arrest  its  transmigration,  it  has  failed 
most  signally.     We  repeat  it,  the  past  is  here.     As  for  its 
ruins,  time  claims  them,  and  as  for  ourselves,  we  ha\'e  nei- 


2i 

ther  room  nor  occasion  for  them ;  but  its  residuum,  gentle- 
tlemen,  tliat  is  an  everlasting  possession,  and  the  joy  of 
many  generations.  It  lies  within  this  epoch.  It  has  a  home 
upon  the  shores  of  this  continent.  If  its  tokens  are  demand- 
ed, I  point  to  engines,  and  forges,  and  spindles,  and  looms. 
K  its  vitality  is  questioned,  I  challenge  the  designation  of  a 
commodity  or  a  luxury  in  the  whole  range  of  modern  econ- 
omics, which  bears  not  some  relation  to  the  past.  K  its 
ethical  and  intellectual  presence  is  denied,  I  affirm  it  to  be 
every  where,  the  staple  of  all  morals  and  all  mind.  It  inter- 
penetrates the  whole  of  life  and  effort,  and  whether  it  be 
through  the  media  of  classic  fable  and  history,  or  old  phi- 
losophies, or  sublime  epics,  or  undying  oratory ;  whether  its 
lessons  are  gathered  from  Memnon  and  the  Pyramids,  or 
from  Zanthean  marbles ;  whether  from  Pagan  mysteries,  or 
Christian  art — the  past  is  with  us,  by  the  wayside,  in  the 
workshop ;  on  the  mountain  of  vision,  and  in  the  vale  of 
industry;  helping  us  to  fashion  our  own  antiquity,  and 
secure  for  ourselves  a  more  exalted  name,  and  a  nobler  min- 
istry of  good. 

We  say,  therefore,  to  the  poet  who  mourns  over  the  prac- 
tical element  in  these  times,  that  it  is  the  very  embodiment 
of  the  past.  If  there  be  not  enough  in  the  common  sources 
of  inspiration  to  satisfy  him ;  if  the  varied  aspects  of  nature 
around  him ;  if  the  stars  and  golden  clouds  of  evening,  and 
the  smile  of  infancy,  and  the  gentle  eye  of  woman — "if  the 
visions  of  glory,  and  dreams  of  love,  and  hopes  of  heaven" 
which  visit  this  earth,  leave  him  impoverished ;  then  super- 
added to  all  such  themes,  he  has  this  new  world  transfigured 
with  the  light  and  the  glory  of  the  old, — ^he  has  more  to  kin- 
dle and  replenish  his  poetic  fire  than  Homer  had;  more 


25 

than  Dante  or  Tasso;  more  than  Milton;  for  all  their  treas- 
ures are  at  his  feet,  and  the  spoils  of  centuries  beside.  We 
perceive,  therefore,  that  a  wise  Conservatism  has  been,  and 
we  feel  that  in  a  far  greater  measure  should  continue  to  be, 
the  vigilant  guardian  of  the  past ;  not  merely  preserving  it, 
but  subordinating  it,  and  hlending  the  essence  of  things  that 
afe  not,  with  the  substance  of  tilings  that  are. 

Gentlemen,  I  shall  greatly  add  to  the  imperfections  of  thia 
address,  if,  before  bringing  it  to  a  close,  I  omit  to  reduce 
the  general  principle  we  have  considered  to  one  or  two  of 
its  more  definite  applications. 

The  first  of  these  to  which  I  would  briefly  call  your  atten- 
tion, shall  be  the  most  important. 

Hitherto,  I  have  purposely  omitted  any  direct  allusion  to 
that  divine  structure,  which,  being  the  keeper  and  dispenser 
of  our  Faith,  is  therefore  dear  to  us  all,  as  the  life  of  our 
souls.  ISTor  shall  I  presume,  at  this  moment,  to  rank  the 
Chtjrch  of  God  with  those  systems  of  earthly  origin  which 
may  be,  and  continually  are,  accommodated  to  the  fluctua- 
tions of  our  social  and  intellectual  being.  She  is  from  eter- 
nity above,  and  has  within  her  bosom  an  element  of  preser- 
vation and  continuity  which  does  not  depend  upon  any 
accident  of  time  for  its  life  or  power.  She  has  mysteries 
which  far  transcend  the  approaches  of  sense  or  intellect ; 
lying  in  a  region  "which  no  man  hath  seen,  or  can  see."  She 
has  truths,  and  doctrines,  and  sacraments,  which  are  intend- 
ed for  man's  implicit  acceptance,  and  eternal  salvation ;  not 
for  his  criticism,  and  not  for  the  exercise  of  his  fallible 
judgment.  And  accordingly,  while  her  office  upon  earth  is 
to  preserve  truth,  and  diftuse  it  to  the  saving  of  the  soul, 
she  maintains  through  all  periods,  and  in  the  face  of  all 


26 

change,  a  reserve  which  repels  intrusion,  and  shrinks  both 
from  the  touch  of  restless  and  sacrilegious  hands,  and  the 
loud  outcries  of  sensuous  and  fanatical  tempers. 

Even  the  sacred  poets  of  the  old  Pagan  world,  who  "sang 
the  praises  of  aifj^.c,  taught  this  lesson :  they  taught  that 
there  was  something  higher  than  expediency,  something 
higher  than  mere  feeling,  a  holy  monitor  to  whom  all  affec- 
tion was  meant  to  bow,  and  absolutely  commit  itself  for 
training  and  fashioning ;"  and  it  is  because  this  lesson  has 
not  been  duly  learned,  that  rationalism  and  infidelity  are 
emblazoned 

"Upon  the  forehead  of  these  fearless  times." 

But  I  feel  assured  of  one  fact  which  will  be  questioned 
by  no  man,  that  the  outward  presentation  of  divine  truth  to 
the  world,  is  left  almost  entirely  to  the  human  and  collective 
wisdom  of  the  Church.  "With  her  divinely  appointed  agents 
there  is  lodged  a  discretionary  power  which  they  are  bound 
to  exercise.  Tliey  have  exercised  it  from  the  beginning. 
Her  rules  and  institutions ;  her  offices,  ceremonials,  celebra- 
tions, usages,  liturgies,  songs,  had  not  all  one  birth.  They 
are  the  accretion  of  ages.  They  are  the  exponents  of  change 
and  progress.  They  are  the  gathered  fragments  of  advan- 
cing time,  accepted  literally  as  well  as  conventionally  by  the 
"communis  sensus" — the  common  sense — of  the  Church. 
Some  of  them  are  obsolete,  some  have  been  formally  repudia- 
ted, and  some  remain  to  this  day,  the  sacred  expressions  of 
Catholic  truth,  and  holy  worshij),  and  honoring  these  with  an 
ever-deepening  affection,  we  pray  God  that  no  change  may 
pass  upon  them,  except  such  as  shall  be  manifestly  "the  fruit 
of  a  wise  delay,"  and  a  most  reverent  consideration.  Neverthe- 
less we  shall  not  withhold  the  declaration,  that  it  argues  no 


27 

disloyalty  to  the  Church ;  it  neither  betokens  a  radical  spirit, 
or  a  defective  faitli,  or  a  revolutionary  desin^n,  to  suppose 
that  the  time  has  come,  or  may  come,  when  it  will  be  alto- 
gether expedient  to  lift  the  Church  out  of  the  groove  in 
which  holy  men  left  her  ages  ago,  and  turn  her  serene  and 
radiant  face  a  little  more  toward  the  face  of  troubled 
and  suffering  humanity,  and  re-adjust  her  beautiful  f>-ar- 
ments,  a  little  more  in  harmony  with  those  tastes  and  habits 
of  life  in  which  her  children  are  so  carefully  educated,  and 
without  sacrificing  one  particle  of  her  sublimity  or  her  sim- 
plicity, give  her  a  little  more  freedom  of  action  in  a  world, 
I  say  it  with  sorrow,  where  there  is  scarcely  any  thino-  else 
but  action. 

Counting  it  no  heresy  to  suppose  that  such  a  day  may 
come,  we  honestly  hold  the  conviction  that  it  will  come,  and 
that  the  principle  we  have  asserted  will  receive  the  consent 
of  the  Church.  Tliere  will  be  no  sudden  rupture  of  vener- 
able ties ;  no  violent  displacement  of  time-honored  usages. 
Her  order  will  not  be  rashly  violated.  Her  rubrics  and  offi- 
ces will  not  be  rudely  handled.  Her  heavenly  calm  will 
not  be  invaded  by  the  resounding  footsteps  and  loud  voices 
of  iconoclasts  and  innovators.  Nevertheless  we  confidently 
anticipate  the  period,  although  we  may  not  survive  to  behold 
it,  when  her  sanctuaries  will  bear  witness  to  a  happier  adapt- 
ation of  liturgical  forms,  and  a  freer  spirit  of  discourse,  and 
a  larger  symj^athy  with  Christ's  humble  poor  ;  and  when 
her  priesthood  will  not  only  work  valiantly  within  her  bor- 
ders ;  when  they  will  not  only  go  round  about  her,  and 
mark  well  her  bulwarks,  and  count  her  towers,  but  wlien 
they  will  make  far  excursions  into  the  surrounding  world, 
and  adapt  themselves  with  facility  to   the   revolution   of 


28 

tlioiiglit  and  feeling  wliicb  is  going  on  there,  and  make 
themselves  felt  in  the  heart  of  great  communities,  and  make 
themselves  known  in  the  most  obscure  and  secluded  haunts 
of  humble  life ;  pushing  the  conquests  of  the  Church  into 
the  purlieus  of  shame  ;  carrying  her  medicines  ot  hoj^e  and 
consolation  to  the  deepest  hiding-places  of  misery,  and  ren- 
dering her  what  her  Divine  Master  was ;  what  He  intended 
her  to  be ;  the  daily  friend  and  loving  counsellor  of  the  out- 
cast and  the  forsaken.  This  is  the  Conservatism  we  invoke 
for  the  Church  in  this  age.  Xot  that  she  is  without  it  in  a 
high  measure ;  but  there  is  room  for  more — a  Conservatism 
discreet,  observant,  reasonable,  conciliatory — holding  abso- 
lute truth  above  the  reach  of  all  change — high,  very  high 
— ^high  as  the  throne  of  God ;  but  moulding  its  circumstan- 
tials to  the  wants  and  necessities  of  daily  life,  and  common 
men. 

Were  it  not  for  trespassing  upon  your  time,  it  would  be 
easy,  nay,  it  would  be  interesting  to  pass  within  the  pre- 
cincts of  other  and  less  sacred  institutions,  and  observe  ho\^ 
Imperiously  the  offices  of  a  sound  Conservatism  are  de" 
manded.  Not  that  any  earthly  institution  will  be  perfect ; 
not  that  the  hindrances  and  difficulties  which  beleaguer 
improvement,  will  ever  be  overcome — but  incongruities, 
such  as  are  manifest  to  every  eye,  and  are  sources  of  univer- 
sal irritation  and  im2oatience,  to  say  nothing  of  outrage, 
need  not  be  tolerated.  They  will  not  always  be  tolerated. 
If  no  other  influence  interpose,  at  some  time  the  currents  of 
strong  opinion  and  common  sense  will  prevail,  and  sweep 
them  away.  In  the  administration  and  processes  of  law, 
concessions  have  already  been  made,  I  am  aware,  to  the 
popular  judgment.     Some  of  its  wrappages  have  been  taken 


29 

off.     Some  of  its  blind  labyrintlis  have  been  closed.     Some 
of  its  wearisome  prolixity  has  been  dispensed  with. 

But  justice  and  equity  are  yet  in  bondage  to  forms  as  irri- 
tating to  the  temper  uf  this  age,  as  this  age  is  foreign  to  that 
of  Justinian  or  King  John.  It  cannot  always  be,  that  Law 
shall  maintain  her  fixed  composure,  and  wind  through  her 
endless  and  tortuous  details,  while  all  around  her  tribunals 
the  waves  of  discontent  and  agony  are  swelling.  It  cannot 
always  be,  that  access  to  lier  judgment-seat  shall  be  made  a 
disheartening,  and  perliaps  a  life-long  struggle.  The  end  of 
all  this  will  come.  No  age  is  blind  to  practical  abuses,  or 
silent  in  regard  to  them,  and  there  will  at  length  be  heard  a 
full-voiced  and  clamorous  demand  for  reform.  It  will  de- 
volve ujwn  some  power  to  disentangle,  to  eliminate,  to  sim- 
plify, Tlie  prerogatives  of  that  power  should  be  exercised 
by  the  masters  of  the  Law.  A  lofty  Conservatism  should 
influence  and  guide  them  in  a  course  of  reformatory  meas- 
ures, which  shall  anticipate  rash  counselfc,  and  preserve  the 
high  places  of  judgment  and  justice  fiom  distempered 
assault. 

Gentlemen,  I  cannot  but  deem  it  matter  for  devout  con- 
gratulation this  day,  that  the  College  whose  returning  festi- 
val brings  us  together,  cheers  us  also  with  the  bright  promise 
of  her  importance,  both  to  the  Church  and  the  Republic. 
On  every  hand  we  see  tokens  that  she  is  preparing  to  do  the 
work  proper  to  this  age,  and  express  herself  not  incoherently 
upon  every  question  and  interest  which  may  be  worthy  of 
consideration.  The  full  assurance  meets  us,  that  she  is  not 
to  be  cramped  in  her  energies,  or  defrauded  of  her  efficien- 
cy, by  alliances  with  party,  or  devotion  to  extremes.  "With- 
out occupying  a  neutral  ground,  she  will  occupy  the  true, 


30 

the  conservative,  the  Catholic  ground.  Her  sympathies  will 
be  large ;  her  range  of  observation  wide ;  her  aims  com- 
prehensive. She  will  not  stand  in  the  bosom  of  this  wake- 
ful and  tumultuating  world,  a  thing  of  the  past ;  a  monu- 
ment of  impracticability,  with  no  higher  destiny  than  to 
keep  what  she  has  received,  and  preserve  the  dignity  of  a 
plethoric  custodian,  and  envelope  herself  in  a  monastic  so- 
lemnity, and  carefully  transmit  her  store  of  ancient  learning 
and  hoary  dogmas,  and  ecclesiastical  legends,  to  those  that 
shall  come  after.  No !  no !  A  higher  work  and  nobler 
destiny  invite  her.  She  will  rather  be  a  pillar  of  guidance 
and  rebuke  in  the  midst  of  this  stirring  century.  Truly  she 
will  look  to  the  past,  and  reverence  its  illustrious  names  and 
authorities.  She  will  treasure  the  precious  remains  of  its 
wisdom  and  power,  and  give  a  distinct  utterance  to  its  truth. 
But  she  will  do  more.  The  present  will  not  be  too  narrow 
for  her  vision.  She  will  perceive  that  the  past  can  only  be 
useful  as  it  becomes  a  teacher  of  the  present ;  a  quickener 
and  revealer  of  power ;  a  som'ce  of  thought,  an  instrument 
of  progressive  elevation  ;  fashioning  the  instincts  and  im- 
pul^es  of  man  into  the  harmony  of  society,  and  enabling 
them  to  reach  a  higher  ground  and  gaze  upon  a  grander 
prospect;  and  perceiving  this,  she  will  offer  to  the  present 
the  fulness  of  her  strength  and  the  purest  impulses  of  her 
sympathy,  as  an  interpreter  and  guide.  She  will  observe 
its  wants,  and  endeavor  to  supply  them.  She  will  mark  its 
errors,  and  seek  to  overthrow  them.  She  will  realize  its 
dangers,  and  make  no  delay  to  avert  them.  But  she  will  do 
still  more.  Knowing  that  tliis  familiar  though  wonderful 
Bcene  is  but  an  advancing  step  in  the  progress  of  society 
and  being,  she  will   look  beyond  it ;   piercing,  as  far  as 


31 

may  be  lawful,  tlic  cloud  and  mist  of  the  future,  widening 
lier  vision  to  coming  developments,  and  strengthening  her 
heart  by  the  anticipation  of  glories  yet  to  be  revealed.  And 
thus  she  will  stand — Janus-faced — looking  to  the  past,  the 
present  and  the  future,  that  she  may  make  them  all  subser- 
vient to  the  highest  good  of  man  and  the  highest  glory  of 
God. 

Such  are  the  pledges  which  meet  us  here  to-day.     We  see 
them  and  rejoice.     We  see  them  in  a  life-long  consecration 
of  her  chief  executive  officer  to  the  interests  of  Ti'inity  Col- 
lege.    We  see  them  in  an  admira'ble  corps  of  professors ;  in 
the  accession  of  eminent  and  large-hearted  men  to  her  seats 
of  theology,  and  in  that  new  foundation  which  looks  to  the 
economical  management  of  the  State  and  the  Nation ;  aye, 
and  seeing  them,  we  take  heart,  confident  that  whatever  may 
be  the  convulsions  of  the  world,  or  the  disquietudes  of  the 
Church,  she  will  maintain  a  true  and  stable  position,  not 
sitting  at  a  distance  from  either,  or  honoring  either  with  a 
dissembling  reverence,  but  endeavoring  to  serve  both,  by 
preparing  her  children  in  their  generations  for  a  keen  inter- 
est, and  successful  interference  in  the  afiiairs  and  conflicts  of 
life,  and  for  an  earnest,  actuating,  courageous  attachment  to 
the  "faith  once  delivered  to  the  saints  ;"  so  that  living  or 
dying,  they  may  be  sustained  by  the  answer  of  a  good  con- 
science, and  coiuited  worthy  of  that  perfection  whicli  lies 
beyond  the  toil  and  disfigurement  of  earth,  in  the  kingdom 
OF  THE  Father. 


it  I)  e  III  c  3   for  tljc   Jpoct, 


A  POEM 


DELIVERED  BEFORE 


THE    HOUSE    or    CONVOCATION 


OF 


TRINITY  COLLEGE, 


IN  CHRIST  CHURCH,  HARTFORD,  JULY  28,  1852. 


BY    THE 

KEY.  CLEMENT  M.  BUTLER,  D.  D., 

RECTOR    OF    TRINITY    CHUIICH,  WASHINGTON,  AND   CHAPLAIN    OF    THE   SENATE 

OF    THE    UNITED    STATES. 


Published  by  the  House  of  Convocation. 


HARTFORD: 

S.    HANMEB  &    CO. C.VLKNDAli   PRESS. 

1852. 


TO 

THE  REV.  M.  A.  DkWOLFE  HOWE,  D.  D., 
THIS   POEM 

IS 
AFFECTIONATELY     INSCKIBED, 

BY     HIS     FRIEND 

THE    AUTHOR. 


POEM. 


It  is  no  dream !     Here  once  again  I  stand, 

With  a  poor  poem  blusliing  in  my  hand ; 

Teachers  terrific  still  are  hoverino:  near ; 

Aaaendat  Butler  !  thunders  in  my  ear. 

Again,  with  trembling  steps,  I  mount  the  stage, 

Address  the  carpet  with  poetic  rage, 

Wonder,  in  horror,  and  look  round  to  see. 

If  giggling  girls  are  maldng  fun  of  me. 

In  desperate  doubt  through  tender  words  I  storm — 

Kesume  my  seat,  and  say — "  '^Tu  very  wcmn.^^ 

Ah,  can  it  be  so  many  yeai-s  have  fled, 
Since  that  day's  dance  of  terroi-s  througli  my  head ! 
Are  they  not  here,  that  joyful  Brother  band, 
Whose  farewell  grasp  yet  tingles  on  my  hand  I 
But  few  are  here !  and  now  our  footsteps  tread 
On  life's  dry  leaves  then  green  above  our  head  ; 
On  hopes,  the  timid  blossoms  of  the  hour. 
That  never  spread  their  beauties  into  flower ; 
On  earlier  joys,  tliose  gadding  vines  that  clasp 


6 

Things  dead  and  living  with  an  equal  grasp. 

T  is  well !     If  'neatli  our  feet  these  sere  leaves  lie, 

They  leave,  above  our  heads,  an  open  sky ! 

Dear  Ahna  Mater  !  At  thy  feet  we  kneel ; 
Thy  hand's  soft  stroke  upon  our  heads  we  feel ; 
Thy  face,  all  beaming  with  maternal  joys, 
Smiles  a  glad  welcome  on  thy  elder  boys ; 
And  as  we  gather  round  the  homestead  hearth, 
Thou  dost  not  frown  on  our  becoming  mirth. 
As  oddest  pranks  and  drollest  mischiefs  pass. 
Grotesquely  grinning,  over  memory's  glass  : — 
E'en  then  thy  anger  was  amusement,  half. 
And  thy  grave  censure  oft  a  smothered  laugh. 

Since  then,  what  changes  manifold  and  fast, 
O'er  all  the  land,  o'er  all  the  world  have  passed  ! 
What  vigorous  powers,  new  hopes,  and  large  desires, 
Have  glowed  and  sparkled,  like  the  new-stirr'd  fires ! 
What  busy  life  keeps  all  the  world  astir  ! 
What  new-bom  wonders  daily  round  us  whiiT ! 
What  earnest  nonsense,  out  of  hot  hearts  hurled, 
With  screaming  zeal  perambulates  the  world ! 
What  touching  cures  for  all  our  human  ills — 
For  Eden  lost  can  be  regained  by  pills ! 
What  coming  marvels  "in  the  good  time"  near, 
When  only  poor  men  shall  be  scarce  and  dear. 
When  law  and  physic,  no  more  fees  to  win. 
Shall  weep  the  loss  of  suffering  and  of  sin  ; 
When  no  pert  priest  shall  still  survive  to  tell 


7 

The  halt-grown  gods  of  Earth  there  is  a  hell. 
Oh,  "good  time  coming" — already  come  in  song- 
Don't  tarry  longer !  pray^  do  come  along ! 


"But  why,"  say  some,   "mount  that  old  chariot,  r/<y;/i6? 
The  lumbering  State-Coach  of  the  elder  time." 
This  is  the  age,  as  every  scliool-boy  knows, 
"When  genius  steanis  along  on  thundering  prose. 
Get  with  this  trumpery  verse  from  otF  the  track ! 
Strive  not  to  call  the  banished  muses  back  ! 
They  timid  glances  on  the  present  cast, 
Tlien  glide  within  the  cloisters  of  the  past. 

Nay,  't  is  not  so !     From  man  the  muses  come  ; 

His  beating  heart  their  birth-place  and  their  home. 

"With  man  as  man  these  genial  spirits  dwell 

Alike  in  crowded  mart  and  silent  cell. 

"Whatever  warms  and  fills  and  thrills  the  heart ; 

"Whatever  bids  the  impassioned  pulses  start ; 

"Whatever  shakes  glad  fancies  from  their  nest, 

And  sends  them,  singing,  through  the  brighten'd  breast 

"Whatever  future,  crowned  by  hope's  glad  hands, 

Down  on  the  frowning  present,  smiling,  stands  ; 

"Whatever  past,  by  memory  saint-like  made, 

Breathes  benedictions  from  the  sacred  shade. 

Is  poetry.    The  muse  shall  sing  and  soar, 

"While  Earth  shall  last— then  seek  the  brighter  shore! 


8 

AVliat  are  the  tliemes  that  move  our  j^resent  age, 
And  send  the  lit  e je  gleaming  o'er  the  page  ? 
IS'ot  all  that  once  has  moved  the  human  soul, 
Holds  o'er  it  still  a  masterful  control. 


To  sing  of  Jove  and  Juno,  Pallas,  Mars, 

To  tell  the  storj  of  their  loves  and  wars ; 

Or  e'en  of  Cupid,  with  liis  bow  and  string. 

Were  but  a  cold  cloud  to  our  breast  to  bring. 

When  wafted  back  with  those  who  sang  and  saw 

Those  shapes  of  beauty,  grandeur,  grace  and  awe, 

Then,  beneath  genius'  mesmerizing  spell, 

We  too,  in  cheated  dream,  with  them  may  dwell ; 

But  when  those  shapes  we  summon  on  the  stage. 

In  the  broad  day-light  of  our  glaring  age. 

Not  e'en  the  vivid  picture- work  of  Keats, 

Nor  Shelley's  wild  and  wondrous  fancy-feats, 

Can  make  those  shadows  pause,  and  live,  and  speak 

To  minds  and  hearts.    They  only  flit  and  squeak. 

In  sweet  Arcadian  vales  and  flowery  meads. 

Where  hajjless  Corydon  with  Chloe  i^leads, 

AVhere  murmuring  streams,  in  pensive  concord  flow, 

With  his  pipe's  tedious  and  melodious  woe, 

Til  ere,  where  our  gentle  sires  retired  to  weep. 

There — if  Ave  go  at  all — we  go — to  sleep  ! 

If  in  such  forms  our  modern  muse  should  come. 
She  'd  find  with  us  nor  welcome  nor  a  home. 


9 

IJut  the  grand  epic  that  was  wont  to  roll 

Its  coi)ious  glories  through  the  human  soul, 

Gathering  around  some  mighty  deed  of  arms 

All  that  the  spirit  elevates  and  cliarms — 

All  passions,  fancies,  hatreds,  loves,  desires. 

All  that  in  life,  art,  nature,  fills  and  fires — 

Shall  our  ears  listen  to  this  mighty  song. 

Bearing  whole  nations  on  its  waves  along  ? 

Not  yet,  if  ever,  may  that  Epic  come 

Trailing  the  past — its  glories  and  its  gloom. 

We  stand  begirt  with  fearful  secret  powers  ; 

Strange  marvels  hurry  on  our  crowded  hours ; 

Half-finished  wonders  glitter  at  our  feet. 

Which  the  deft  future  hastens  to  complete  ; 

So  full,  so  fast,  absorbing  and  intense. 

The  gifts  of  life  our  passing  years  dispense. 

That  not  for  wonders  to  the  past  we  turn. 

Though  time's  and  fancy's  glories  round  her  burn. 

Wiien  that  great  battle  of  the  nations  comes — 

(Hark  to  the  rolling  of  its  muster  drums !) 

When  leagued  oppressions,  on  their  final  field, 

To  liberty's  impassioned  cohorts  yield. 

And  victor  virtues — 'freedom,  peace,  and  love — 

Lift  loud  Te  Deums^  jubilant,  above. 

Then  may  the  finished  scroll  be  all  unrolled. 

And  the  full  story  of  our  times  be  told ; 

Tlien  Homer's  lyre  may  be  again  re-strung — 

We  I'i'oe  the  Epic  that  shall  then  be  sung. 

But  wide  the  range,  and  full  of  wondrous  things, 
In  which  the  muse  may  now  disport  her  wings. 


10 

Our  daily  life,  the  joys  and  woes  of  home, 
The  violet  virtues  in  the  shade  that  bloom ;    • 
The  infant,  smiling  on  its  mother's  breast. 
The  girl's  soft  musing,  and  the  boy's  unrest, 
The  hopes  and  loves  and  soaring  aims  of  youth ; 
Man's  brave  life-war,  and  woman's  patient  truth  ; 
Oh  sweet  these  gentle  lyrics  of  the  heart, 
Which  from  the  home  affections,  singing,  start ; 
Which  greet  us,  waking,  with  a  cheerful  note. 
And  o'er  day's  discords,  mildly  breathing,  float ; 
With  tender  softness  charm  the  day's  calm  close, 
And  soothe  our  fevered  spirits  to  repose. 

Oh  never  shall  these  simple  singings  cease 

To  tell  our  sorrow,  and  to  swell  our  peace  ; 

Oh  never  weary  shall  man's  heart  become 

Of  flowers  familiar  round  his  cherished  home  ! 

At  eacli  new  Spring  he  hails  them  all  the  more, 

Because  their  beauty  gladdened  him  before. 

Then  let  the  Poet's  home-aflections  flow 

Forth  into  heart-songs,  musical  and  low. 

And  his  sweet  numbers  shall  the  world  rehearse : 

All  have  his  feelings,  but  they  want  his  verse ! 

And  youthful  love's  delicious,  radiant  dreams — 
Of  these  may  the  true  Poet  write  by  reams ! 
Bright,  greedy  eyes  will  every  word  devour, 
And  only  wish  for  Si—few  acres  more  ! 
Well,  sing  it  out !  oh  Poet !  clear  and  long. 
For  't  is  Earth's  sweetest,  most  enrapturing  song  ; 


11 

And  when  your  grai^liic  strains  portray  it  best, 
How  much  remains  that  cannot  be  expressed  ! 
Thouj^h  to  the  life  your  vivid  verses  show 
Young  hearts  with  love's  dear  raptures  all  a-glow ; 
Though  its  sweet  pains,  and  its  rich  joys'  excess, 
Through  your  warm  words,  in  panting  ardor,  press  ; 
And  though  each  shines,  in  fancy's  colors  dressed, 
As  "wisest,  virtuousest,  discreetest,  best," 
Yet  will  these  hearts  regard  your  words  as  tame, 
Mere  Arctic  moonshine  to  their  fervent  flame. 
Resume  the  lyre  !    To  the  world's  end  prolong, 
Oh  Poet  heart !   that  unexhausted  song ! 


Why  here  are  hearts — start  not ! — no  names  I  tell — 

In  which  whole  unwrit  Petrarch  volumes  dwell. 

I  shrewdly  guess,  within  yon  classic  walls, 

"Whence  duty's  war  its  well-drilled  conscript  calls. 

Some  agonizing  student  has  essayed 

To  rhyme  a  farewell  to  an  obdurate  maid. 

In  vain — his  collar  down  and  hair  uncombed — 

Through  mighty,  melting  adjectives  he  roamed. 

How^  in  poor  words,  may  ever  be  expressed 

The  woful  Iliads  struo-frlincr  in  his  breast  ? 

The  half-writ  sonnet  fainted,  died  and  sunk. 

And  now  lies  buried  in  the  young  man's  trunk. 

Ah,  fair  one  !    smile  on  him  !     Indeed  you  should  ; 

It  had  been  written — if  it  only  could  ! 

These  things  are  so,  or  else  'tis  plain  to  me, 

Things  are  not  there  as  once  they  used  to  be ! 


12 

Now  Nature  woos  us  to  her  green  retreats, 
Crcatlies  in  our  souls  her  vivifying  sweets  ; 
And  poet-hearts,  with  rapture  brimming  o'er, 
Praise  her,  and  love  her,  and  almost  adore. 
Sublime  and  lovely  are  the  strains  they  sing  ; 
Long  their  soft  echoes  in  our  heart's  caves  ring. 


Still  may  these  pure  and  purifying  songs 

Float,  lute-like,  breathing,  'mid  life's  clashing  throngs  !. 

Still  to  its  pale  and  pining  victims  bear 

A  breath  of  freshness  on  the  tainted  air ! 

Still  swell  our  joys,  when  'mid  green  scenes  we  roam, 

And  re-create  them  when  we  muse  at  home  ! 

Oh  dear  the  office  which  kind  nature  plies — 

For  our  soul's  life  within  her,  shadow'd,  lies. 

By  natm*e's  living  symbols  are  expressed 

The  living  feelings  of  the  human  breast. 

Our  sense  of  beauty  there  is  met  and  filled ; 

Our  souls  with  kindred  grandeurs  roused  and  thrilled  ; 

Our  joy's  exulting  voice  is  clearly  heard 

In  the  glad  streamlet,  and  the  singing  bird ; 

Our  dear  hopes,  folded  in  the  coming  hour, 

Are  seen  to  open  in  the  budding  flower  ; 

Our  fresh  affections  gurgle  from  the  fount ; 

Our  lofty  aims  tow'r  upward  in  the  mount ; 

Our  deep  gloom  darkens  in  the  spreading  cloud  ; 

Our  passions  burst  forth  in  the  tempest  loud  ; 

Our  peace  soft  nestles  in  the  twilight's  calm  ; 

And,  in  cool  dews,  distils  our  lx>som's  balm. 


13 

Oh,  is  not  Nature  precious  to  our  heart, 

Because  in  our  sad  doom  she  bears  a  part  ? 

Not  willingly  to  vanity  she  turned ; 

The  curse  that  blii'hted  man  within  her  burned. 

We  dragged  her  from  her  throne  of  glory  down  ; 

We  stripped  her,  weeping,  of  her  robe  and  crown  ; 

And  now,  her  laboring  bosom  sighs  and  groans, 

Responsive  ever,  to  man's  ceaseless  moans. 

We  feel  a  tender  tie  with  this  dimmed  Earth, 

Which  dates  its  darkness  from  our  fatal  birth. 

Our  souls,  in  tumult  with  sin's  ceaseless  jar. 

Earth's  breast  the  seat  of  elemental  war, 

Send  up  to  Heaven,  in  one  long,  fearful  din, 

The  blended  dissonance  of  awful  sin. 

Oh  not  in  vain  forever  to  the  skies, 

Shall  these  wild  woes  of  man  and  nature  rise ; 

Not  all  unheard  the  anguished  cry  of  man 

To  lift  from  oif  the  race  God's  crushing  ban ; 

Not  aye  in  vain,  her  signals  of  distress 

To  the  far  worlds  in  the  blue  boundlessness. 

Shall  the  wrecked  Earth  send  booming  o'er  the  deep. 

In  the  loud  thunders  from  her  sides  that  leap. 

God's  heart  is  on  them,  and  his  word  is  passed. 

That  their  dread  woes  shall  not  forever  last ! 

Fallen  with  man,  with  man  shall  Earth  arise. 

And  spring  in  beauty  through  the  shouting  skies, 

The  symbol  once,  and  likeness  of  his  woe, 

Now  the  clear  mirror  where  his  glories  glow  1 

Tlien  ever  dear  to  human  hearts,  the  strain 
Where  Nature  lives,  and  blooms,  and  speaks  again. 


14 

Let  the  rapt  lover  of  her  marvels  range 
Tlirough  various  nature,  in  her  every  change  ; 
Her  cunning  nooks  and  wond'rous  caves  explore, 
And  moor  his  light  bark  on  her  wildest  shore. 
Then  let  the  pictures  to  his  memory  brought, 
By  fancy's  airy  touch  again  be  wrought. 
Let  the  rich  feelings  which  they  waken'd,  rest 
Like  hived  honey,  in  his  happy  breast ; 
Tlien  let  him — ^mind,  and  heart,  and  fancy  full 
Of  the  bright  visions  of  the  beautiful — 
Tlie  songs  of  Nature  with  glad  heart  repeat, 
Wliich  he  learned,  sitting,  at  her  gracious  feet, 
And  our  hearts'  beatings  all  attuned  shall  be 
To  the  sweet  measm-es  of  his  minstrelsy. 


Let  that  strain  perish^  though  its  numbers  roll 

Melodious  thunders  o'er  the  raptured  soul. 

If  in  its  chorusses  it  fail  to  bring 

GTxyry  to  God — great  nature's  greater  King  ! 

Nor  while  it  marks  God's  touch  in  all  He  gives, 

And  sees  God's  heart  in  every  thing  that  lives, 

Let  it  mistake  fine  luxuries  of  sense 

For  sacred  breathings  of  Omnipotence  ; 

Nor  dare  to  worship  Natiu-e's  life  as  God, 

And  find  His  spirit  in  the  senseless  sod  ; 

And  call  all  worlds  and  souls,  one  sea 

Of  blended  life — one  only  Deity. 

How  timid,  lonely,  orphaned,  drear  the  soul, 

If  as  one  wave  of  that  vast  sea  it  roll ! 


15 

How  wann,  and  glad,  and  trustful  will  it  be, 

As  the  lov'd  child  of  Fatiiek — Deity  ! 

Then  Nature  speaks  to  him  in  every  line, 

Of  spirit-glories  deathless  and  divine. 

Wliat !  if  the  vast  system  of  created  things, 

Stretching  beyond  the  mind's  imaginings, 

Its  worlds  on  worlds,  whose  dew-dro^js  seem  to  try 

T'  exhaust  the  treasures  of  infinity — 

What  if  it  be  one  symbol-scheme,  designed 

To  speak  the  glories  of  the  eternal  mind  ; 

Where,  in  each  creature,  feebly,  is  expressed 

An  answering  glory  in  Ilis  wondrous  breast  ? 

Oh  then  how  loftily  does  Nature  sing 

Perpetual  anthems  to  her  Heavenly  King  ; 

Then  know  we  why  Earth's  blessed  sceneries  charm, 

And  why  they  seem  with  loving  Godhead  warm  ; 

Why,  when  in  Nature's  arms  we  sink  to  rest, 

We  feel  as  folded  to  a  Father's  breast ! 

Too  long  we  linger.     Fain  we  here  would  stay  ; 
But  life,  guilt,  sorrow,  beckon  us  away. 

How  does  the  turbid,  restless,  fevered  time, 
Teem  with  the  tragedies  of  woe  and  crime ! 
The  pure  Muse  enters  where  wild  passions  rave, 
That  she  may  learn  to  pity  and  to  save  ; — 
As  'mid  those  scenes  where  maniac  woe  abides, 
The  gentle  form  of  Dix  serenely  glides. 
Awed,  let  her  pierce  into  dark  caves  of  sin, 
And  see  foul  vices  fight  and  bleed  within — 


16 

Conflicting  passions,  struggling  ill  and  good, 

Old  Evil's  stern  and  brutal  hardihood  ; 

Remorse,  with  red  and  horror-gleaming  eye, 

Kun  from  the  avenging  fiends  of  memory, 

Then  spring,  in  palpitating  terror,  back 

From  retribution's  near  and  bloody  rack ; 

Then  when  her  heart  with  pitying  woe  shall  ache, 

Let  her  high  prophet-strains  of  warning  wake ! 

Oh,  far  too  long  have  song  and  genius  lent 

To  crime's  career  their  music's  ravishment ; 

Our  souls  in  fascinated  horror  held  ; 

Our  rising  blame  by  admiration  quelled  ; 

From  hearts  which  should  their  moral  thunders  pour, 

Won  pity's  soft  and  expiating  shower. 

Leave  not  to  bandit  bards  the  tales  of  crime, 

Tawdrily  glorious,  vulgarly  sublime  ; 

To  fallen  genius,  which  can  only  see 

The  devilish  beauty  of  iniquity  ; 

But  haste,  oh  faithful  bard  and  bold  !  to  show 

In  crime — pollution,  agony  and  woe  ; 

Haste,  youthful  hearts,  in  vivid  words  to  tell. 

How  sin's  gay  Eden  slopes  down  smooth  to  hell ! 

lla&tQ — for  the  age  its  stimulating  airs 

To  the  world's  brain  a  maddening  influence  bears  ; 

Kindles  wild  hopes,  awakens  vast  desires, 

The  judgment  dazzles,  and  the  fancy  fires  ; 

Tempts  to  wild  schemes  where  wisdom,  duty,  right. 

In  the  red  brilliance  fade  upon  the  sight ; — 

Adventure  nnisters  all  her  motley  train  ; 

The  gold-fiend  beckons  from  the  western  main  ; — ■ 


IT 

Hasten,  with  startlinij:  vividness,  to  show 

How  boundless  passions  pass  from  gnilt  to  woe ; 

In  winning  contrast  paint  the  peace  of  those 

Whose  hearts  on  conscience  pillow  their  repose, 

Whose  well-trained  passions  duty's  rein  obey, 

And  move,  with  free  step,  over  virtue's  way ; 

Whose  home-delights  and  regulated  joys. 

Whose  business,  garden,  books,  wife,  girls  and  boys, 

All  the  mind's  powers  to  healthy  action  tune, 

And  bless  the  heart's  love  with  its  choicest  boon  ; 

Whose  very  sorrows  far  more  pleasures  win 

Tlian  all  the  feverish  ecstacies  of  sin — 

For  to  their  woes  already  are  there  given 

Foretasted  blessings  from  approaching  Heaven. 

The  muse  of  satire — how  she  shouts  and  laughs  ! 
For  rich  the  game  is  for  her  shining  shafts  ! 

How  fatally  her  slender  arrow  flies, 

Through  fashion's  big  and  little  butterflies  ! 

She  goes  to  I^ewport  and  impales  a  few — 

The  game  is  plenty,  but  't  is  worthless  too  ! 

Then  at  a  Fourier's  Paradise  she  stops, 

And  sees  Professor  Transcend — emptying  slops  ! 

And  Mrs.  Sky-fly,  whose  "poem  on  the  soul, 

Considered  as  a  deep  world-holding  hole," 

Lies  on  the  table  to  be  finished,  when 

She  shall  have  fed  the  piggy  and  the  hen. 

Loud  laughs  the  muse,  but  lets  no  arrow  fly, 

Tlie  folly  has  not  life  enough  to  die. 
2 


18 

Then  to  the  spirit-rappers  does  she  go 

To  ask  old  kings  and  bards — "How  do  you  do"  ? 

To  hear  great  Milton  wretched  rhyme  indite, 

And  modest  "Washington  poor  bombast  wi-ite. 

Oh,  wondrous  Media  !  I  do  not  believe 

These  summoned  spirits  rap,  as  you  conceive  ; 

For  as  you  make  them  such  consummate  fools. 

If  they  could  rap,  I'm  sure  they'  d  rap  your  slculls  ! 

Then  peeps  the  muse  within  the  palace  high 

AYhere  pills  are  ground,  to  purge  humanity 

Of  all  disease  and  sin.     Ko  need  for  her 

The  shafts  of  satire  from  their  rest  to  stir : 

Their  puifs  are  satires,  subtle  and  refined, 

Grinning  in  glee  at  credulous  mankind  ! 

Then  in  the  halls  of  art  she  glides  to  see 

If  to  her  lofty  call  art  faithful  be. 

There,  amid  scenes  of  j)uri ty  and  love. 

Which  fill  the  heart,  the  moral  purpose  move. 

She  sees  base  panderings  to  sin  and  sense; 

Vice  veiled  in  beauty's  seeming  innocence  ;  , 

Lo  !  parsons  singing  transcendental  hymns, 

To  the  Greek  Slave's  shrinking,  sentimental  limbs  ; 

Insisting  loud  that  soul,  heart,  genius  shows, 

Just  in  i:»roj)ortion  as  we  wear  few  clothes  ; 

That  God  made  coverings  for  the  fallen  pair, 

Only  because  of  dampness  in  the  air. 

Angry  the  look  which  on  the  group  she  bends, 

And  to  them  all  a  mantua-maker  sends. 


19 

Then  to  tlie  Cliurcli  slic  takes  lier  saddened  way, 

To  see  men's  follies  as  they  praise  and  pray. 

She  looks  to  find  them  in  the  sects  and  Eome, 

But  not  within  our  sobpr,  holy  home. 

Aweary  now  she  turns  from  them  away, 

And  enters  Church,  to  hear,  and  praise,  and  pray. 

Scarce  has  she  passed  within  the  outward  porch. 

Before  she  asks — "Is  this  a  Eomish  Church  ?" 

"Oh,  no  !"    Doubtful,  uneasy  still  she  sits. 

And  thinks  she  surely  must  have  lost  her  wits  : 

Enter  Sir  Kector — surplice  covering  o'er 

A  coat  like  Grimes's,  all  buttoned  down  before  ; 

A  fossil  priest  just  vitalized,  and  come 

From  out  a  mediaeval  catacomb. 

The  solemn  service,  by  his  mummings,  made 

A  very  poor  and  pitiful  parade  ; 

He  gives  a  little  homily  to  show 

How  little  good  incessant  preachings  do ; 

Tells  them  the  Church  hy  symlols  best  can  teach  ; 

That  Hawks  and  Clakk  *  cannot,  like  stained  glass,  preach ; 

Bids  them  look  round  them,  and,  in  awe,  espy 

"What  splendid  preachings  now  address  the  eye. 

(But  he  forgets,  in  the  meantime,  to  say 

If  arch  and  glass  can^racA,  why  can't  ihQj  j>7'a}/T) 

Oh,  Reverend  Fossil !  it  is  strictly  true — 

The  glass  and  chancel  preach  as  well  as  you ! 


•  The  Rev.  F.  L.  Hawks,  D.  D.,  LL.  D.,  of  New  York 
"      "     T.  yi.  Clark,  D.  D.,  of  Hartford. 


20 

New  themes  upon  our  modern  poet  wait ; 
Fresh,  stirring,  noble,  wondrous,  wild  and  great ; 
The  wrongs  of  nations  and  the  rights  of  men  ; 
The  glorious  triumphs  of  the  tongue  and  pen  ; 
The  spread  of  truth,  the  progress  of  the  world ; 
Freedom's  bold  banner  on  the  age  unfurled  ; 
The  people's  strivings,  and  the  patriot's  toils. 
Art's  noble  triumphs,  labor's  mighty  spoils  ; 
The  marvels  science  crowds  upon  the  time, 
Rivalling  ISTature  in  her  works  sublime  ; 
Man's  inner  being,  like  his  outward  state. 
Stirring  and  hopeful,  ardent  and  elate — ■ 
These  are  the  themes  which  may,  to  modern  sono-. 
Give  tones  of  life  and  grandeur,  clear  and  strong. 


Too  much,  by  far,  do  fli^jpant  tongue  and  pen 

Scatter  dishonor  on  our  public  men  ; 

Too  oft  our  youth  must  be  compelled  to  ask 

If  patriot  words  are  always  sham  and  mask  ; 

Too  oft  our  nation's  council  is  portrayed 

As  if  to  peddling  demagogues  betrayed — 

(So  speak  not  you  ;  for  Toucey  fills  his  jjlace 

"With  mildly-blended  dignity  and  grace.) 

This  should  not  be  !     Good  men  should  sternly  frown 

This  vulgar,  false,  dishonoring  scandal  down  ; 

It  comes  from  baseness,  and  it  makes  men  base  ; 

It  covers  many  with  the  few's  disgrace. 

Men  true  and  noble  as  the  world  e'er  saw. 

Guard  there  your  rights,  and  fashion  there  your  law. 

There  have  been  given  to  recording  time 


21 

Events  and  men  surpassingly  sublime  ; 

There  will  the  muses  of  the  future  hie 

To  sing  the  praise  of  patriot  liberty. 

Let  it  not  be  !     Remember  God's  commands 

That  they  be  lionored  at  the  people's  hands  ; 

And  that  tlie  Church,  obedient  to  her  Lord, 

Puts  on  your  lip  the  supplicating  word 

That  through  their  counsels,  we  may  never  cease 

T'  enjoy  truth,  justice,  righteousness  and  peace. 


One  miglity  patriot  soul  has  passed  away — 

The  land  leans  weeping  o'er  the  tomb  of  Clay  ! 

One  of  the  few  rare,  high,  heroic  hearts, 

At  whose  mere  name  a  world's  pulse  quicker  starts. 

A  hero  born — for  all  his  being's  plan 

"Was  cast  upon  the  highest  scale  of  man. 

His  impulse,  passion,  fancy,  heart  and  mind, 

Each  singly  great,  were  splendidly  combined  ; 

His  mind,  in  scanning  things  and  questions,  saw 

Their  ends  and  uses  more  than  their  hid  law — 

A  giant,  T.-orking  amid  mighty  things, 

Kot,  sprite-like,  searching  to  their  secret  springs. 

He  thought  to  act^  and  asked  if  things  were  true, 

Not  to  hnow  only,  but  to  know  to  do; 

Hence,  void  of  baseness,  loving  place  and  fame 

Only  as  clear-eyed  honor  with  them  came. 

He  stands  recorded  on  his  country's  page, 

The  foremost  patriot  Statesman  uf  his  age ! 

Oh,  't  was  a  sight  to  see  him  in  his  hour 

Of  kindled  interest  and  of  conscious  power, 


22 

"When  burnt,  and  burnished  in  his  fervent  zeal, 

His  spirit  glittered — a  Damascus  steel ! 

Out  gleamed  his  quick  and  ever-moving  eyes. 

Keen  to  detect  and  skillful  to  disguise  ;  . 

"With  honest  logic,  brilliant  wit,  vast  sense. 

And  sudden,  vivid,  rousing,  daring  eloquence ; 

"With  look,  voice,  gesture,  plastic  to  the  life 

"With  which  his  words  and  sentiments  were  rife, 

lie  looked  as  leading,  in  that  triumph-hour, 

A  bannered  army  terrible  with  power ! 

Now  a  Napoleon  planning  conquests  large  ; 

And  now  a  Mueat  in  his  dashing  charge  ; 

"Prince  of  the  Senate"  crowned ;  with  kingly  grace, 

Living  and  dying,  he  maintained  the  place. 

But  purer  glories  signalized  the  hour 

Of  dying  greatness  than  of  living  power. 

I've  seen  sweet  children,  gentle  women,  go — • 

God's  dear  peace  resting  on  their  patient  brow  ; 

But  never  saw  I  yet  a  being  die 

AVith  a  more  simple,  grand  humility  ; 

Ne'er  have  I  seen  around  a  dvins;  bed 

So  much  majestic  peace  and  beauty  shed. 

Gentle,  patient,  thoughtful,  calm  and  kind, 

"With  manners  softened — holily  refined — 

He  for  whose  pains  a  nation's  eyes  were  dim, 

Seemed  grieved  that  one  should  watch  and  wait  on  Jthn. 

Loud  in  his  ear  the  booming  guns  proclaimed 

The  nation's  rival  candidate?  were  named ; 

The  swelling  praises  to  his  mighty  fame 


23 


Witli  deepening  pathos  to  Lis  cliamber  came. 
The  sounds  with  scarce  a  meaning  reach  his  ears  ; 
'T  is  sweeter  music  that  his  soul  now  hears  ! 
"While  round  its  base  the  weeping  millions  lie, 
lie  mounts  the  Pisgah  of  his  fame,  to  die ; 
Across  his  glories,  which  grow  dim  and  pale. 
His  spirit  flies  to  childhood's  happy  vale  ; 
There  folds  its  weary,  broken  wings  in  rest. 
And  murmurs  softly  in  its  early  nest ; 
There  does  his  child-heart  to  his  mother  hie — 
There  does  his  child-heart  to  his  Saviour  fly ; 
So  sweet  those  feelings,  luuuan  and  divine, 
Ilis  fame's  forgot — his  glories  cease  to  shine — 
How  grand  is  death — how  glorious  is  the  lot. 
In  which  a  fame  like  this  is  all  forgot ! 

My  pleasant  task  is  ended !     Ho !  again, 

Life  and  its  duties  summon  us  amain. 

One  day  of  greeting  and  of  joy  remains  ; 

One  day  to  scour  green  memory's  pleasant  plains ; 

Tlien,  with  loins  girded,  and  a  kind  farewell. 

Each  to  his  work  must  turn.     OJi^  do  it  well! 


IJttblic  (!0])inion,  VmtitH  auij  m^tM  bn  Conflitting  |nflucntes 


AN  ORATION, 


DELIVERED    BEFOKE   THE 


CONNECTICUT    BETA 


OF  THE 


|pl)i  Beta  Kappa  0ocietg, 


IN   CHRIST  CHURCH,  HARTFORD,  JULY  28th,  1852. 


BY  M.  A.  DeWOLFE  HOWE,  I).  D. 


Published  by  request  of  the  Socielj. 


HARTFORD: 

8.  HANMER  &,  CO. — CALENDAR  PRESS. 

1S52. 


ORATION. 


It  is  observable  in  nature,  that  its  most  beneficent 
agents  are  the  result  of  opposing  forces.  Indeed, 
the  supremacy  and  wisdom  of  the  Creator  is  in  noth- 
ing more  conspicuous  than  in  the  coupling  of  hostile 
powers,  and  employing  their  very  antagonism  to 
achieve  purposes  beautiful  for  harmony,  and  affluent 
of  good.  Our  planetary  system,  consisting  of  myr- 
iad bodies,  vast  in  their  dimensions,  and  fearful  in 
the  rapidity  of  their  movements,  is  kept  (as  we  all 
know,)  in  its  exact  propriety  of  revolution  by  the 
combination  of  forces,  either  of  which,  acting  alone, 
— free  from  the  resistance  of  the  other, — would  in- 
volve the  universe  in  confusion  and  chaos.  This 
vital  air,  so  nicely  attempered  to  our  use,  is  a  com- 
pound of  elements  extremely  opposite  in  their  nature, 
— the  one  of  which  would  extinguish  life  in  a  moment, 
the  other  render  it  too  intense  to  endure.  Inter- 
fused in  due  proportion,  these  adverse  agents  become 
the  breath  of  Heaven,  wherewith  it  fans  earth 
into  verdure,  and  its  inhabitants  into  activity  and 
gladness.  It  would  not  be  difficult  to  multiply  illus- 
trations of  this  wise  and  beneficent  employment  of 
counteracting  powers,  in  the  physical  world. 


Perliaps  it  were  presumptuous  to  assert,  but  cer- 
tainly there  is  ground  to  surmise,  that,  in  the  less 
obvious  economy  of  morals,  the  Almighty  has  made 
sin— the  azote  of  spiritual  being — so  to  concert  with 
grace  as  to  secure  for  man  the  highest  state  of  bles- 
sedness which  he  is  capable  of  enjoying.  In  the  con- 
stitution of  man's  nature,  what  a  strange  compound 
there  is,  of  the  sensual  and  the  refined, — the  abject 
and  the  grand, — the  perishable  and  the  immortal ; — 
and  yet,  of  these  repugnant  elements  supreme  wis- 
dom has  fashioned  the  lord  of  creation  ; — and  since 
God  has  done  it,  we  may  safely  conclude  that  man 
could  not  have  been  so  well  fitted  for  his  supremacy, 
were  he  not,  (as  some  have  reproachfully  called  him) 
"  a  bundle  of  contradictions." 

These  observations  have  occurred  to  me  while 
speculating  on  the  processes  of  common  opinion,  and 
the  countervailing  elements  which  conspire  to  shape 
and  impel  it.  Let  me  direct  your  thoughts  for  a  brief 
space  to  this  plain  and  practical  proposition, — that 
the  opposite  extremes  of  opinion  are  necessary,  each 
in  their  measure,  to  give  right  direction  and  safe 
impulse  to  the  general  mind, — the  great  mean  of  sen- 
timent and  action,  which  distmguishes  the  passing 
age  !  The  analogy  of  things  in  other  departments  of 
our  world,  would  dispose  us  to  look  for  some 
antagonistic  forces,  when,  contemplating  public  opin- 
ion, that  mighty  agent  in  the  advancement  and  hap- 
piness of  mankind,  we  are  led  to  ask  how  is  it  fash- 
ioned, and  by  what  complication  of  powers  is  it  kept 
80  steadily  and  benignly  efficient  ? 

There  is  no  people  on   the  earth,  whose  tenor  of 
opinion  has  so  immediate  an  influence  upon  public 


condition  and  destiny,  as  the  American  people. — 
Every  prominent  act  here,  is  tlie  utterance  of  the 
common  mind  ;  every  advance  in  literature  or  the 
arts,  is  significant  of  general  progress.  The  breath 
of  a  pervasive  sentiment  lifts  or  reduces  the  level 
of  social  action,  as  quickly  as  the  changeful  air  affects 
the  mercurial  column  ! — Inventions  in  the  arts  pass 
directly  into  practical  use,  before  being  tested  in  the 
alembic  of  the  schools. — Theories  of  political  econ- 
omy, approved  of  the  people,  become  experiments 
of  State,  without  vraiting  the  reluctant  imprimatur 

of  a   King And   doctrines  and   usages  of  worship 

obtain,  and  get  plenary  authority  of  public  observ- 
ance, despite  the  decretals  of  Pope  or  Council. 
Scarcely  can  any  subject  then  more  nearly  concern 
the  literary  and  professional  men  of  this  land,  than 
inquiry  into  the  constituents  of  popular  opinion,  for 
they  have  much  to  do  with  its  formation-  They 
must  learn  to  be  tolerant  of  ingredients  which  they 
do  not  furnish.  Education  fails  of  its  true  end  and 
aim,  if  it  do  not  make  scholars  large-minded— libe- 
ral enough  to  appreciate  the  necessity,  and  to  know 
the  proper  proportions  of  influence  and  sentiment, 
unlike  their  own,  which  must  mingle  in  the  great 
melange  of  society,  and  improve  by  combination 
what  they  could  not  supplant  without  utter  ruin.  It 
matters  not  how  vast  a  man's  attainments  may  be — 
they  have  not  enlarged  and  ennobled  him,  if  they 
have  left  him  to  assume  that  he  is  the  true  type  of 
manhood,  and  that  the  simplicity  of  even  his  mental 
antipodc  has  nothing  to  bring  to  the  common  stock 
of  thought,  which  can  make  it  richer  than  his  own ! 
In  this  age  and  country,  the  two  most  strongly 


6 

marked  tendencies,  which  by  their  opposition,  serve 
to  keep  the  general  mind  in  equipoise,  are,  on  the 
one  hand,  to  the  restoration  of  what  is  old,  and,  on 
the  other,  to  the  bold  experiment  of  what  is  new. 
For  the  last  three  hundred  years,  liberty  of  thought 
has  been  throughout  Christendom  distinctly  asserted 
and  progressively  enjoyed.  But,  on  this  new  Conti- 
nent alone,  has  it  been  completely  unshackled — free 
alike  from  established  authority,  and  from  the  sanctity 
of  venerable  forms — elsewhere  hallowed  by  too  long 
a  practice  to  be  promptly,  and  unfalteringly  trans- 
gressed. It  is  no  matter  for  surprise  that  a  people 
endowed  with  such  singular  license,  and  in  possession 
of  a  field  for  experiment  wider  than  the  ancients  knew, 
and  open  as  when  the  world  was  young,  should  be 
strongly  pre-disposed  to  hold  in  light  regard  the  set- 
tled convictions  of  mankind  ;  to  attempt  the  regene- 
ration of  the  whole  social  system,  by  which  old 
things  might  pass  away,  and  all  things  become  new. 
And  indeed  there  has  been  some  sanction  for  this 
presumptuous  boldness  in  the  utter  failure  of  the 
institutions  of  past  ages  to  develope  fully  the  powers 
and  secure  the  happiness  of  man.  Moreover,  the 
comparative  success  of  the  American  enterprise  thus 
far,  which  was  wisely  projected  by  men  who,  free 
to  fashion  their  social  institutions  according  to  their 
own  pleasure,  yet  thought  and  acted  under  the  whole- 
some restraint  of  life-long  associations  with  stern 
conservatism, — the  honorable  success  of  this  grand 
attempt  is  attributed  by  many,  solely  to  the  new  ele- 
ments which  have  been  here  introduced,  and  in  no 
measure  to  the  modifying  influence  of  the  old  and 
time-honored  mementos  of  other  ages  and  climes. 


Indeed,   there  are  not  wanting  minds  which  fancy 
that  our  immediate  progress   to  social  perfection  is 
hindered  by  nothing  else  but  the  lumbering  relics  of 
antiquity,  which,  with  fond  veneration,  we  are  attempt- 
ing to  carry  with  us  in  our  onward  march.     Under 
the  stimulating  influence  of  a  liberal  age,  mind  has 
become  wondrously    inventive ;    and    the    develop- 
ments of  the  present  century  have  been  so  startling 
and   so  rapid,— so  subversive  of  past  experience, — 
so  alterative  of  the   intercourse  of  the  world,  that 
forecast  is  bafl^ed— the  sequences  of  political  wisdom 
have   become  obsolete,  and  even  prudent  men  are 
slow  to  question  any  prophecy,  however  extravagant, 
of  impending  change.     Under  such  a  fervid  mental 
atmosphere,  it  would  be  strange  if  some  brains  were 
not  overheated,  some  quick  spirits  inflamed  to  fanati- 
cism.    The  age,  the  country,  the  institutions  of  the 
land — the  course  of  events,  all  favor  the  conceit,  and 
the  hopeful  pursuit  of  whatever  vagary.     It  will  be 
well  if  we  do  not  become  a  nation  of  adventurers, 
rash  to  forego  the  certainties  of  treasure  in  posses- 
sion,  for  the  excitement  of  new  enterprise  and  the 
chance   of   possible  gain  !     In  New  England  espe- 
cially— the  birth-place  and  home  of  the  most  thorough 
mental  enfranchisement,  and  therefore  most  intense 
individuality— the     most    extravagant   visions,     and 
schemes  of  social  progress,  have   been    originated. 
Minds  delirious  through  excess  of  the  inventive  fac- 
ulty,  have  been  developing  year  by  year,  for  the  last 
half-century,  novel  theories  of  life  in  all  its  higher 
departments  of  interest,  until  now,  the  advance  guard 
of  this  progressive  phalanx  are  ready  to  assail  every 
thing  which  is  old,  simply  because  it  is  old.     The 


8 

History  of  all  the  past,  these  invaders  account  of  no 
value  but  to  denote  in  every  item  what  the  future 
shall  avoid.  The  monuments  of  the  ages  are  fit  only 
to  be  cast  down,  that  passers  by  may  witness  in  the 
ruin  what  follies  have  been.  However  good  this  or 
that  institution  may  have  proved  for  its  period,  yet, 
the  w^orld  is  maturing— the  clock  of  time  strikes  an 
higher  hour,  man  must  keep  pace  with  the  ages,  and, 
if  he  be  not  a  dotard,  ancient  wisdom  must  in  his 
esteem  have  declined  into  folly!  ** Excelsior"  is 
the  watchword.  Grave  experience  forewarns  of 
danger.  Sober  religion  counsels  to  moderation.  Do- 
mestic love  pleads  its  restraining  claims— but  into 
the  solitudes  of  rash  experiment  the  strong  adventu- 
rer will  climb ! 

All  ultraists  do  not  attempt  the  same  paths  of  pro- 
gression J  all  do  not  go  or  even  see,  the  full  circle  of 
reform,  but  the  subversive  spirit,  wherever  directed, 
the  spirit  of  blind  advance,  in  whatever  quarter, 
marks  their  kindred,  and  proclaims  them  '  legion.' 
We  are  unaware  to  what  extent  this  live  devil  pos- 
sesses the  community, — yea,  that  in  some  processes 
of  thought  or  feeling,  it  probably  infests  ourselves, 
while  we  bemoan  its  prevalence  over  others.  It  is 
the  master  spirit  of  the  times ;  and  bids  every  mind 
in  its  own  sphere  of  action,  aspire  to  create.  Its 
tokens,  therefore,  meet  us  at  every  turn  in  life. 

New  schemes  of  political  organization  are  rife, 
Government  has  become  an  anachronism.  Repre- 
sentative power  even  is  not  to  be  trusted.  Clamor- 
ous men  are  demanding  that  our  democracy  be  puri- 
fied. Judges  must  doflf  their  furs  oftener  than  the 
living  ermine  !     Power  is  a  word  inappropriate  to  the 


9 

functions  of  office ;  service  to  the  people  is  tlie  only 
term  which  befits  the  conduct  of  a  j)uhlic  man  !  Ru- 
ler, Governor,  and  Judge  are  names  of  convenience 
with  this  school,  until  others  may  be  affixed,  but  the 
ideas  which  they  represent  are  obsolete  ;  the  species 
they  describe,  extinct  and — forgotten,  but  for  some 
fossils  of  the  old  world.  Now,  whither  does  all  this 
look,  but  to  the  reduction  of  society  to  its  lowest 
terms  ? — the  dissolution  of  what  is,  without  forecast 
of  what  may  be  ? — a  venture  into  the  dark  of  futurity, 
without  even  a  blazing  brand  from  the  ruins  of  the 
past? 

Another  detachment  of  this  liberating  army  applies 
itself  to  the  specialite  of  social  reform.  All  the 
bonds  of  community  are  wrongly  adjusted.  It  is 
time  for  society  to  adjourn  and  re-organize.  "Com- 
monwealth," hitherto  an  illusion  and  a  mockery,  it  is 
now  proposed  to  substantiate.  Individual  tenure  of 
property  is  pronounced  an  outrage  upon  the  joint 
rights  of  the  many  to  the  broad  domain  of  the  earth  ; 
partition  into  families  an  odious  monopoly,  a  pretext 
for  aristocratic  ranks  and  orders,  for  special,  personal 
attachments,  prejudicial  to  common  charity  ;  a  prac- 
tical denial  of  the  great  brotherhood  of  man.  And 
so,  the  poor  lone  vestige  of  the  patriarchal  state, 
which  has  survived  all  changes  through  more  than 
five  thousand  years — the  association  of  kindred  in 
one  household  :  and,  appropriation  of  wealth  to  him 
whose  toil  and  care  have  developed  and  preserved  it, 
sacred  in  every  age,  (since  Abel  the  shepherd  owned 
a  lamb  to  oiler  in  sacrifice,  and  Cain  brought  fruits 
from  the  ground,  of  his  own  culture,)  the  genius  ot 
reform  has  now  discovered  to  be  transcendent  wrongs 


10 

of  which  the  world  in  its  gray  maturity  ought  to  be 
ashamed.  Pity  is  it,  that  time  has  labored  so  long  in 
birth  of  wisdom  which  might  have  blest  its  earlier 
cycles  ;  or,  since  that  has  been,  that  schemes  so  nov- 
el, cannot  compass  also  the  making  of  a  new  sphere 
for  trial,  but  must  be  given  to  experiment,  if  at  all,  in 
a  trite  and  every  day  world,  thick-sown  with  rank 
conventionahsms,  and  sturdy,  deep-rooted  social 
forms  !  Vagaries  so  extravagant  and  lunatic,  are 
propounded  with  the  most  unblushing  impudence,  and 
commended  to  public  favor  by  vigorous  talent,  and 
engaging  enthusiasm.  And,  if  there  were  not  coun- 
tervailing influences  at  work  to  keep  the  general 
mind  in  its  staid  temper  of  conservatism,  society 
might  be  hurried,  like  the  herd  of  Gadara,  down  the 
steep  place  that  leads  to  its  perdition. 

The  time  would  fail  us  to  recount  all  the  depart- 
ments of  social  interest  which  are  visited  and  endan- 
gered by  the  furor  of  this  progressive  spirit.  But, 
in  this  place  and  presence,  it  would  be  justly  es- 
teemed a  strange  omission  if  no  allusion  were  made 
to  the  lust  for  novelties  in  religion,  which  kindles 
some  ardent  bosoms,  and  employs  some  teeming 
brains.  The  history  of  religion  in  this  country,  (I 
speak  not  now  of  ecclesiastical  forms,  but  of  opinion, 
sentiment  and  practice,)  is  the  most  curious  and  ver- 
satile chapter  in  the  annals  of  the  world.  It  can 
never  be  written  on  earth,  for  no  mind  of  mortal  can 
comprehend  all  its  phases.  The  pen  of  the  record- 
ing angel  only  is  adequate  to  the  task.  Liberty  of 
conscience  has  been  here  given  and  exercised  as 
never  before  under  the  sun.  Invention  is  actually 
spent  in  devising  new  "  isms  "  upon  the  pretended 


n 

basis  of  revealed  truth.     Until  now,  revelation  itself 
is  (leclared  stale  and  unprofitable.     Once,  adventure 
trembled  to  take  the  Bible  in  hand,   and  turning  the 
back  upon  venerable  systems  of  faith  to  speculate 
freely  upon  its  awfully  sacred  contents.     Now,  men 
of  assumed    devotion   hold   ancient   scriptures   and 
oecumenical  decrees,  and  established  creeds  in  equal 
disrespect,  and  accept,  or  long  for  new  revelations  ; 
or,  esteem  man  his  own  illuminator,  capable  to  attain 
by  progressive  development  of  his  reason,  visions  of 
truth  more  elevated  and  expansive  than  were  ever 
shown  to  Law-giver,  Prophet,  or  Messiah.     Indeed, 
thej-e  is  a  presumpkious  infidchty,  more  progressive 
and  less  refined  than  this,  which  numbers  among  its 
advocates,  men  who  make  large  professions  of  phi- 
lanthropy ;    however  they  repudiate  the    school   of 
morals  at  which  it  has  been  learned.     This  type  of 
aggression   abjures   all   speculative   religious   truth, 
spurns  old  systems   and   craves  no  new^  ones.     Its 
religion  has  to  do  only  with  the  mutual,  social  rela- 
tions of  man.     It  does  homage  to  no  being  on  earth 
or  in  Heaven.    It  is  without  a*  creed,  save  in  its  own 
sufficiency.    It  owns  no  Sabbath,  for  all  its  days  are 
hallowed  by  its  rites  of  proscriptive,  relentless  benev- 
olence.    It  is  non-resistant  to  evervthinir  but  Law. 

»/  CD 

It  loves  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men,  except 
Christians.  It  sanctions  the  most  abhorrent  and 
revolting  associations,  -averse  to  no  fellowship,  but 
the  communion  of  the  Church.  If  the  common  mind 
were  surrendered  to  the  influence  of  opinions  like 
these,  philanthropy  demented  would  soon  lift  the 
blood-red  standard,  and  open  the  new  era,  by  con- 
signing to  death  the  living  piety  and  benevolence  of 
this! 


12 

These  are  some  of  the  more  obvious  manifesta- 
tions of  the  so-called  progressive  spirit  of  the  age. 
They  are  alarming ;  and  if  they  were  unparalleled, 
by  some  opposite  tendencies,  might  be  regarded  as 
the  prelude  of  social  ruin. 

But,  while  the  great  mass  of  the  community  con- 
templates these  movements  with   indifference,  and 
even  derision,  some  minds,  disgusted  at  the  licen- 
tiousness of  modern  freedom,  are  looking  back  wist- 
fully to  the  dull  stagnation  of  the  middle  ages.     They 
could  be  content  perhaps,  with  progress,  if  it  were 
not  so  impatient.     Present  advancement  were  not  so 
distasteful,  if  it  were  not  abused  as  a  stand-point  for 
further  and  indefinite  aspirations.     And  so  they  who 
long  for  quiet,  who  esteem  permanency   a  greater 
blessing  than  restless  improvement,  sigh  for  the  re- 
covery  of  old  monarchies, —  old  feudal  tenures   of 
property,  and  rank, — old  social  usages,  employments, 
and    sports, — old   hierarchies,    churches,    religious 
orders,  processions,  pomps,  and  accidents  of  wor- 
ship.    And,  since  the  matter-of-fact  business  world, 
elated  with  the  profit  of  its  reform,  is  too  practical 
to  speculate,  and  too  hurried  to  wait  the  recital  of 
quaint  reminiscences — it  befals  religion — the  contem- 
plative department  of  our  social  system,  'the  theme 
of  sentiment  and  imagination,  the  agent  which  neither 
makes,  nor  mars,  any  temporal  interest,— to  be  dealt 
with  most  freely  by  minds  of  re-actionary  leanings. 
We  smile  at  the  fidelity  with  which  the  past  is  repro- 
duced, wherever  such  can  carve  their  fancies  in  stone, 
or  depict  them  in  grotesque  interceptions  of  the  sim- 
ple light   of  Heaven.     The  nomenclature  of  early 
times  in  the  mouths  of  living  men,  flings  a  mist  of 
perplexity  over  the  period  of  our  being.     We  ques- 


13 

tion  whether  we  or  they  have  lost  our  proper  date. 
They  talk  of  worship,  and  sacred  places  and  holy 
vessels  in  such  antiquated  terms,  and  with  such  pro- 
found solemnity,  that  we  are  fain  to  tremble,  lest 
Christianity  itself  has  been  compromised  by  the  dis- 
use of  these  holy  circumstantials.  41as,  that  men 
should  spend  devotion  on  symbols,  fervent  enough  to 
be  rendered  to  God ;  that  the  truth  of  the  Church 
should  be  deemed  safe  only  in  a  petrifaction,  duly 
arched,  and  tiled,  begirt  with  open  timber,  and  em- 
blazoned with  gold  and  crimson;  that  architecture 
should  be  named  "sacred,"  and  mediaeval  become  (in 
any  use)  the  synonym  of  Christian. 

But  there  is  a  regard  in  which  we  may  view  these 
antiquarian  extravagances  with  something  more  than 
patience.  Public  opinion  is  to  be  directed  and 
impelled  by  the  joint  action  of  opposing  forces. 
These  notions  are  the  appointed,  and  necessary  an- 
tidote to  the  rash  chimeras  of  our  progressive  times  ! 
They  would  demand  the  most  decided  reprehension, 
if  there  were  any  danger  of  their  prevalence.  But 
the  world  is  not  to  be  rolled  backward  by  a  few 
dreamers.  The  rampant  spirit  of  activity  cannot  be 
lulled  into  slumber  by  the  monotonous  reading  of 
legendary  tales.  Liberated  mind  will  not  bow  its 
neck  and  ask  to  have  the  iron  collar  restored.  The 
world  has  jirown  too  utilitarian  to  renounce  its  dis- 
coveries  in  the  arts,  and  return  every  clan  to  its  val- 
ley, every  shepherd  to  his  hill-side.  Rustic  gossip 
cannot  serve  for  transmission  of  intelligence  to  an 
age  which  has  seized  the  lightning  for  a  vehicle  of 
thought.  A  palmer's  staff  and  sandals  do  not  promise 
the  speed  of  travel  which  they  of  this  generation 
require,  who  have  reticulated  the  globe  in  a  net-work 


14 

of  steel,— and  compass  its  circuit,  swift  and  facile  as 
the  spider  tracks  the  circumference  of  its  web  ! — The 
horn  book  does  not  comprise  knowledge  enough  for 
this  period  of  the  world,  when  every  hamlet  has  its 
author,  every  village  its  printing  press,— and  all  the 
inhabitants  are  readers  !  Return  to  the  institutions 
of  primitive  times  is  impossible.  Slavish  mimickry 
of  rude  and  ungainly  antiquities  is  foolish  affectation. 
To  perpetuate  the  good,  and  make  it  better,  is  true 
wisdom. 

But  these  retrogressive  efforts  will  never  do  more 
than  retard  the  imprudent  haste  of  the  general  mind 
for  coming  development.  They  will  counteract  a 
little,  the  revolutionary  influences  of  hot,  and  forward 
spirits.  They  will  interest  the  public  just  enough  to 
induce  the  conservation  of  some  precious  relics — 
while  it  proceeds,  despite  their  resistance,  to  evolve 
and  enjoy  the  good  wherewith  futurity  is  teeming  !— 
They  are,  in  their  application  to  common  sentiment, 
the  centripetal  force.  They  give  no  impulse, — they 
do  but  moderate  advancement,  and  inflect  it  into  an 
orbit  of  safety.  The  spirit  of  reversion  to  the  life- 
lessness  of  olden  times,  is  the  nitrogen  of  our  intel- 
tectual  atmosphere, — unmingled,  it  would  extinguish 
all  vitahty  of  thought,— invention,  enterprise,  and 
hope.  But,  combmcd  with  that  exhilarating  medium 
of  progression,  that  fiery  element  of  reform,  it  sub- 
dues and  moderates  it ;  so  that,  together,  they  con- 
stitute an  air  which  free  men  can  breathe,  invigora- 
ted alike  for  the  enjoyments  of  what  is  attained,  and 
for  the  pursuit  of  what  is  yet  in  reserve. 

If  the  thoughts  which  I  have  offered  be  just,  it  is 
not  worthy  of  observing,  considerate  men  to  attach 
themselves  either  to  the  antiquarian,  or  to  the  vision- 


15 

ary  school  of  public  counsellors,     Eiich  system  is 
false, — each  scheme  would  prove  disastrous  in  exe- 
cution ! — x\or  yet  does   it  become  us   to  wish   that 
either  were  extinct  or  even  that  holh  were  superceded. 
In  the  present  condition  of  the  world,  it  may  be  that 
some    fanaticism    is   needful   to  infuse   vitality ;    to 
picture  truth  in  all  its  aspects,  and  with  depth  of  col- 
oring conspicuous,  and  impressive  !     Moreover,  who 
knoweth  whether  under  this  constitution  of  things 
evil  be  not  a  necessary  means  of  good  ; — yea,  wheth- 
er the  evolution  of  good  by  the  counter-action  of 
opposing  evils  be  not  the  elected  demonstration  of 
the  Creator's  wisdom,  and  of  his  complete  suprem- 
acy over  all  the  powers  of  the  adversary  ? 

It  is  the  office  of  educated  and  thoughtful  men  to 
watch  these  contending   influences, — to  note   their 
effects  upon  the  public  mind, — to  resist  either  when 
excessive, — to  catch  suggestions  of  practical  wisdom 
from  both,  compound  them,  and  press  them  upon  the 
attention  of  mankind.     Conservatism  is   the  result 
and   token  of  true  and  ample  'mental  culture,     He 
who  lives  to  stimulate  social  progress  when  it  is  lag- 
ging, and  to  restrain  it  when  it  is  over-wrought,   is 
the  true  philanthropist, — though  notoriety  be  no  part 
of  his  reward  !     The  planet  shines  with  a  mild  and 
constant  light, — it  never  startles  men  by  a   sudden 
gleam.     It  is  scarce  distinguishable  among  the  hosts 
of  Heaven  ;  yet  it  is  intrinsically  great, — essential  to 
the  ecjuipoise  of  the  system,  perhaps  of  the  Universe  ! 
It  is  determinate  in   its  orbit.     When   adventurers 
upon  the  stormy  sea  are  perplexed  by  the  vacillations 
of  their  own  compass— they  search  for  it  in  its  sphere 
and  correct  or  assure  themselves  by   its  position. 
That  is  the  meteor,  which  glares  upon  the  nightly  sky, 


16 

with  sudden  brightness — arresting  and  disappointing 
the  wanderer's  regard  ;  without  magnitude,— without 
direction, — without  significance  ! 

I  have  great  faith  in  the  future  progress  of  man- 
kind, and  especially  in  the  part  which  the  men  of 
this  new  world  are  to  perform  in  the  last  Act  of  the 
great  drama  of  Time,  I  repose  with  no  faltering 
reliance  upon  the  true  tendencies  of  common  senti- 
ment, under  the  forces  which  watchful  Heaven  allows 
from  one  and  another  quarter,  to  impel  and  direct  it. 
It  may  vibrate  a  little  beneath  the  shock  of  sudden 
and  violent  influences,  as  a  strong  ship  trembles  at 
the  concussion  of  the  sea, — but  wind  and  wave — 
pressure  and  resistance,  bear  both  onward  in  their 
destined  course.  Contemplating  the  intense  activity 
and  wild  enthusiasm  of  infatuated  zealots,  urging  the 
world  backward  or  forward  on  the  track  of  change, 
we  may  confess  ourselves  appalled  at  the  prospect ; — 
but,  if  we  will  regard  them  as  servants  of  a  supreme 
will,  counteracted  in  mischief  now,  or  presently,  by 
some  equally  threatening  antagonist ;  and  constrained 
to  do  some  rational  good,  in  the  stead  of  intended 
monstrous  evil ; — if  we  will  remember  that  public 
opinion  is  the  sentiment  of  millions,  and  not  the  pas- 
sion of  a  few, — that  it  is  too  vast  to  be  carried  away 
with  every  wind  of  doctrine  ;— and  that  decades  and 
not  days  betray  its  changes — we  can  learn  to  be  calm 
amid  whatever  tumults,  and  cheerfully  to  meet  occa- 
sions of  duty,  assured  that  the  right  will  prevail,  man 
accomplish  his  destined  progress,  and  the  Supreme 
illustrate  his  own  wisdom ! 

lie  is  as  false  in  his  philosophy,  as  he  is  faithless  in 
his  religion,  who  does  not  read  in  the  History  of  the 
past,  the  promise  of  advancement  in  the  future.     No 


17 

fact  in  the  annals  of  mankind,  has  shown  the  limit  of 
human  capacity.  The  tide  of  social  progress  has  in- 
deed, time  and  again,  moved  hack,  after  hearing  up  the 
destinies  of  the  world,  high  and  hopeful,  on  its  huoyant 
waves.  But  each  successive  decline  has  heen  less  ex- 
treme, each  influx  has  suhmerged  a  wider  line  on  the 
mangent  of  ignorance,  and  barbarism ! — What  pretext 
has  the  craven  thought,  that  progression  has  reached 
its  acme  ? — Are  all  the  appliances  of  nature  employed 
and  exhausted  ? — Is  society  as  elevated  and  as  happy 
as  may  be  .'* — Does  it  look  as  if  the  Creator  had 
accomplished  his  purposes — used  up  the  resources  of 
the  earth,  and  developed  by  his  creature — man,  all 
that  may  benefit  a  waiting  universe,  and  redound  to 
the  glory  of  its  Maker  .'*  Oh  no !  Human  advance- 
ment has  quite  as  much  fore-shadowed  in  the  future, 
as  realized  in  the  past.  It  is  to  proceed,  we  may 
trust,  as  heretofore,  with  constantly  accelerated 
force  !  The  flood-tide  on  which  we  are  bounding, 
may  be  the  destined  one  which  is  to  cover,  and  lus- 
trate  the  earth !  Brothers  !  it  is  the  contest  of  the 
elements  which  causes,  and  directs  its  flow  !  All 
progression  is  modified,  and  in  some  sense  caused  by 
resistance. 

"  From  the  fire  and  the  water  we  drive  out  y'  steam, 
"  With  a  rush  and  a  roar,  and  the  speed  of  a  dream. 
"  And  the  car  without  horses,  the  car  witiiout  wings, 

"  Roars  onward  and  flies — 

"  On  its  pale,  iron  edge. 
"Neath  the  heat  of  a  thought  sitting  still  in  our  eyes." 

Archimedes  could  not  move  the  world,  for  the  lack 
of  a  fulcrum  against  which  to  ply  his  lever.  And  the 
Aeronaut  cannot  justify  his  name  and  navigate  the 
air,  for  want  of  a  sufficiently  resisting  medium.   He  can 


18 

move,  but  he  cannot  progress  !— Conflicts  of  mind 
are  the  concerted  impulse  of  society ;  one  class 
may  furnish  the  power  ;  but  to  make  it  happily  effi- 
cient, another  must  create  the  friction.  Let  us  not 
be  disheartened  by  the  diversities  of  influence,  which 
bear  on  common  opinion.  Be  it  ours  to  adjust,  com- 
bine, and  apply  them  ;  to  reduce  or  shut  off"  what  is 
excessive  or  noxious, — to  enforce  what  is  deficient ; 
to  infuse  what  is  wanting ! 

It  cannot  be  amiss  for  your  speaker,  addressing  sons 
of  the  Church,  at  one  of  her  sacred  seats  of  learn- 
ing, to  enjoin,  in  fine,  remembrance,  that  the  religion 
which  she  teaches,  is  an  element  of  manifold  poten- 
cy, by  which  all  the  other  influences  that  aflJect 
society  may  be  resolved,  and  made  salutary,— and 
without  which,  conservatism  can  but  dignify  decay,— 
and  reform  create  new  methods  for  sickening  with 
"hope  deferred,"  the  expectant  hearts  of  men  ! — In 
the  darkest  hours,  weary  with  watching  for  the 
dawn  and  spent  with  fruitless  toil,  we  may  still  have 
hope  in  the  Redeemer's  presence.  Jesus  of  Naza- 
reth can  walk  upon  the  billows, — never  too  turbulent 
to  yield  him  a  footing,  He  will  embark  with  those 
that  trust  in  Him,  command  the  winds  and  waves  to 
do  them  service,  and  waft  the  vessel  which  they  guide 
through  the  midnight,  and  the  storm,  triumphantly  to 
the  Haven  of  peace  I 


Sen  Jlcars  out  of  College. 


AN  ADDRESS 


Dtlinn^ii  in  flje  /ree  (Ejiiiirnjial  Cljajid, 


JULY   28,    1852, 


BEFORE  THE  CLASS  OF  TKINITY  COLLEGE  OF  '42. 


BY  TUE  REV.  W.  H.  CORNING,  M.  A. 


■  «^>  ■ 


HARTFORD: 
TRESS  OF  CASE,  TIFFANY  AND  COMPANY. 

1852. 


Hautfoed,  July  28th,  1852. 

Rev.  and  Dear  Classmate: 

The  undersigned  were  appointed  a  committee  by  the  members  of  the 
Class  of  '42,  to  "wait  upon  you  and  request  for  publication  a  copy  of  the  very 
able,  eloquent  and  interesting  address  which  you  delivered  to  us  this  evening, 
being  anxious  that  those  of  us  who  were  unavoidably  absent,  should  share,  in 
some  degree,  the  pleasure  and  benefit  so  largely  received  by  those  who  list- 
ened to  you. 

Hoping  that  you  may  accede  to  this  earnest  request, 

We  are  truly  yours, 

CHARLES  R.  FISHER. 
AUG.  N.  LE'ROY. 
Rev.  Wm.  H.  Corneng. 

Hartford,  July  29,  1852. 

Classmates  : 

As  the  address,  a  copy  of  which  you  solicit  for  publication,  may  serve 
as  a  memorial  of  fellowship  and  a  bond  of  union  to  the  class,  in  separation,  I 
yield  it  with  reluctance  to  you  for  publication. 

Yours  truly, 

W.  II.  CORNING. 
Rev.  Charles  R.  Fisher. 
Aug.  N.  Le'Roy,  Esq. 


ADDRESS. 


Fellow  Classmates, 

When  we  look  back  to  the  days  of  our  college  life ;  those 
green  days  in  more  senses  than  one  of  our  freshman,  soph- 
omore, junior  and  senior  dignities ;  when  the  sound  of  the 
too  faithful  bell  called  us  with  terrible  punctuality  to  our  daily 
duties,  and   the   nature   and   struggles  of  active  life  were 
not  at  all  apprehended ;  can  it  be  possible  that  for  ten  long 
years  we  have  been  separated,  mingling  each  for  ourselves, 
in  the  stern  realities  of  this  earnest  world  ?     Yet  so  it  is. 
And  we  are  now  met  together,  to  return  each  other's  greet- 
ings, with  all  the  ardor  which  pertains  to  the  pccuhar  and 
delightful  relation  of  classmate ;  to  review  our  college  days 
together ;  to  recount  to  each  other  our  experiences  of  life,  our 
work,  our  joys,  our  failures,  our  successes;  and  to  gain  from 
mutual  counsel  fresh  animation  and  encouragement  for  a 
nobler  life,  in  the  years  before  us.     Varied  and  chequered 
have  been  the  lives  which  we  have  lived.     It  will  be  more 
than  a   pleasure,  to  listen  to  each  others  autobiographies ; 
there  cannot  but  be  mingled  in  them  some  golden  grains  of 
wisdom. 

"  Hoc  est 
Vtvere  bis,  vita  posse  priore  friiiP 

All  of  our  class  are  not  with  us.  Some  could  not  be  pres- 
ent, for  they  are  far  distant ;  others  could  not  leave  their 
duties.  We  will  send  them  now  our  greetings  upon  the 
spiritual  telegraph  of  the  heart.  As  they  remember  the  day, 
they  too  may  touch  the  same  keys.  But  alas  I  three  of  our 
little  circle  are  not  upon  earth.  We  can  only  shed  the  tear 
of  sympathy  upon  the  graves  of  the  simple  hearted  scholarly 
Rossiter ;  the  rough-hewn  but  heroic  missionary  Peake  ;  the 
many  sided,  substantial,  singular  Wales. 


6 

In  turning  about  for  a  subject  of  thought,  suitable  for  this 
occasion,  I  can  find  no  other  than  the  natui'c  and  value  of 
that  period  of  life,  through  which  we  have  just  passed,  our 
ten  years  out  of  college. 

Life  is  divided  into  several  definite  and  widely  different 
periods,  or  stages.     The  developement  of  one  stage,  has  so 
little  in  common  with  that  of  another,  that  in  passing  from 
one  to  the  other  there  seems  to  be  no  preparation  whatever, 
for  the  new  life.     In  each  period  or  division  of  life,  we  are 
obliged  to  begin  at  the  alphabet  of  that  division,  and  gradu- 
ally acquiring  its  rudiments,  at  length  to  fit  ourselves  to  its 
peculiar  form  of  existence.    The  transformation  of  the  worm 
into  the  butterfly  is  hardly  greater,  than  that  of  the  infant 
into  the  child.     And  so  the  emergence  of  the  boy  into  youth ; 
whether  he  betakes  himself  to  the  mechanic's  shop,  the  mer- 
chant's store,  or  the  student's  college,  is  an  entirely  new,  and 
diverse  state  of  being ;  old  experiences,  and  joys,  and  sor- 
rows being  left  in  the  dry  cocoons  of  childhood.     Precisely 
so  is  it  with  the  gi-aduation  of  the  student,  or  the  young  man 
of  twenty-one,  when  he  enters  upon  the  active  world,  as  an 
independent,  or  rather  self  dependent  man.     College  life  is  a 
very  different  thing  from  professional  life;    almost  wholly 
diverse.     There  is  a  new,  a  rough  and  a  disciplinary  educa- 
tion to  learn.     Those  things,  which  once  were  the  end  and 
object  of  our  hopes,  have  become  dull  and  insipid.     Society 
exhibitions  and  junior  exhibitions  and  commencements,  are 
no  longer  the  great  and  wonderful  eras  of  the  world.     We 
laugh  at  ourselves,  when  we  recall  how  we  peeped  over  the 
stage,  from  the  little  back  room  in  the  church,  to  see  whether 
the  house  was  full,  when  we  were  to  astonish  the  natives 
with  our  ten  minutes  oration.    Yet  still  there  are  hearts  which 
bound  as  enthusiastically  in  view  of  such  things,  as  ours  once 
did,  and  who  would  esteem  it  a  dangerous  heresy,  if  any  one 
should  deny  the  immense  importance  to  the  universe  of  brief 
harangues  upon  the  college  platform. 

It  is  strange  with  how  little  sympathy  or  fond  remembrance 
we  bury  our  past  lives.  We  may  sometimes  talk  in  poetic 
strains,  of  our  wishing  to  be  children  or  students  again,  but 
it  is  all  talk.     We  do  not  wish  to  be.     We  really  despise,  as 


a  mere  nursury  life,  the  former  divisions  of  our  being.  We 
like  at  times  indeed,  as  upon  such  an  occasion  as  this,  to  fish 
up  old  scenes,  and  live  over  in  reverie  old  times,  but  it  is 
always  with  the  delightful  understanding,  that  we  are  not 
actually  in  the  midst  of  them  as  formerly,  and  do  not  wish  to 
be.  We  even  enjoy  laughing  at  our  past  selves,  our  child- 
hood and  college  life  together,  when  it  is  well  understood  in 
the  company.  We  may  perhaps,  sometimes,  wish  that  we 
had  opportunity  to  go  through  college  again,  but  it  is  be- 
cause we  would  go  through  as  professional  men,  with  a  dif- 
ferent bent  and  purpose,  and  as  we  say,  to  some  end,  not  as 
formerly.  No!  the  soul  has  little  attachment  to  the  preced- 
ing periods  of  its  progress,  but  is  ever  casting  its  thoughts 
forward,  remembering  the  past  as  inferior  and  undesirable 
states,  and  so  it  will  doubtless  be  forever.  "  Quidquid  enim 
est,  quavivis  amplum  sit,  id  certe  parum  est  turn,  cum  est  al- 
iquid  anipUits." 

The  great  and  distinsruishing  characteristic  of  life  out  of 
college,  which  meets  us  upon  the  very  first  step  from  our 
college  life,  and  extends  its  rough  hand  for  our  acceptance,  is 
its  thoroughly  practical  and  earnest  nature.  The  hue  of  ev- 
ery thing  around  and  within  us  is  changed.  We  are  no 
longer  to  busy  ourselves  with  dead  tongues  and  abstract  sci- 
ences, as  mere  matters  of  preparatory  discipline,  but  we  are 
to  make  for  ourselves,  in  some  sphere  of  usefulness,  an  ex- 
periment of  life.  If  we  choose  the  profession  of  teacher,  and 
thus  pass  our  years  in  our  college  studies,  it  is  still  a  very 
different  work  from  that  of  the  recitation  room,  for  it  has  in 
it  a  practical  aim.  The  atmosphere  in  which  we  move  is 
far  diflerent  in  its  constituent  elements,  exhilarating  us  with 
a  sense  of  a  deep  earnest  problem  to  be  solved,  a  work  be- 
fore us  and  a  destiny.  To  sit  down  to  lessons  in  Greek  or 
Latin  becomes  at  once  very  stupid  business,  and  the  period  of 
college  life,  so  absolutely  essential  to  a  thorough  discipline, 
seems  at  times  utterly  wasted.  And  thus  it  is,  that  in  "  the 
Universal  Yankee  Nation,"  so  full  of  stir  and  utility,  nearly 
all  its  graduated  scholars,  throw  entirely  away  their  classical 
studies  when  they  take  their  diplomas,  and  in  a  few  years 


8 

can  hardly  translate  their  diplomas  themselves ;  a  very  great 
mistake  indeed,  for  the  polish  and  the  power  of  a  true  life- 
long scholar,  mingling  in  the  earnest  pursuits  of  practical  life, 
exert  an  influence,  far  beyond  the  reach  of  scholarship  alone, 
which  would  be  entirely  unfit  for  the  soil  of  America,  an 
exotic  too  delicate  for  this  western  clime,  a  folly  and  a  sin 
every  where ;  or  of  practical  energetic  talent  alone,  which 
needs  the  conservative,  guiding  and  chastening  influence  of 
classical  study.  If  a  more  life-like  spirit,  if  the  genius  of 
America  could  be  introduced  into  our  colleges,  modeled  now 
so  universally  after  the  pattern  of  the  dark  ages,  this  deplor- 
able separation  of  scholarship  and  useful  exertion,  might  be 
avoided.  But  now,  the  young  student  with  a  life  before  him 
of  success  or  defeat,  entirely  unused  to  the  idea  of  such  a 
life,  and  finding  himself  with  astonishment  in  the  midst  of  it, 
abandons  with  disgust,  and  often  forever,  the  studies  which 
appear  so  very  useless  to  him. 

There  are  two  departments  into  which  life  out  of  college, 
during  its  first  ten  years,  is  divided,  both  of  them  equally 
peculiar,  the  choice  and  study  of  a  profession,  and  the  enter- 
ing upon  it.  Some  there  are  whose  early  taste  and  predi- 
lections entirely  exclude  every  thing  like  study  in  the  choice 
of  a  profession.  It  has  already  been  settled  and  foreordained, 
so  that  when  they  graduate  they  have  only  to  enter  upon  the 
necessary  preparation  for  their  desired  work.  Others,  how- 
ever, are  not  by  any  means  so  fortunate.  They  know  not 
what  study  to  pursue.  The  four  learned  professions,  since 
the  progress  of  public  sentiment  has  deservedly  added  a 
fourth  to  the  three  which  have  always  existed,  the  honorable 
and  useful  profession  of  teacher,  are  all  turned  over  in  the 
mind  again  and  again,  and  as  Frank  Hazeldean  attempted 
to  do  in  his  affair  with  the  Countess  Peschiera,  "  reasoned 
about,"  and  often  with  as  little  success  or  ability  to  form 
a  conclusion,  till  at  last,  in  the  same  manner  as  the  heir  of 
the  Hazeldeans  broke  away  from  his  logic  in  a  fit  of  desper- 
ation, rushing  into  the  presence  of  the  amazed  countess;  so 
the  poor  graduate  with  resolved  energy,  dashes  at  a  venture 
into  some  professional  school. 


The  study  of  a  profession  after  it  has  once  been  chosen  is 
full  of  the  exhilaration  and  living  interest  of  a  practical  work. 
It  stands  stron<^ly  contrasted  with  college  life;  an  entirely 
new  sphere  of  thought  and  action.  Here  it  is  that  the  young 
student  first  begins  to  realize  into  what  a  new  sphere  he  has 
transmigrated.  He  has  not  indeed  been  launched  into  the 
very  midst  of  this  living  world,  but  only  upon  its  borders. 
He  little  dreams  of  the  work  and  trials  and  exertions  yet  re- 
maining. Rather,  he  doubts  not  that  when  he  puts  up  his 
sign, "  attorney  at  law,"  his  office  will  be  crowded  with  clients, 
eager  to  engage  his  marvelous  abilities,  or  when  he  announ- 
ces to  his  friends  that  he  is  about  to  preach  his  maiden  ser- 
mon, he  shall  be  received  with  open  hearts,  and  encouraging 
words,  instead  of  the  half  sneering  compliment  "pretty  well 
for  a  boy,  smells  of  the  seminary."  This  is  all  concealed 
from  him,  and  he  works  on  eagerly  and  joyously  in  the  hope 
of  ultimate  success,  for  he  knows,  though  he  is  somewhat 
green  in  some  matters,  that  success  is  the  reward  of  labor. 

At  last  he  is  sent  forth  to  his  work.  And  now  all  the  dif- 
ficulties and  trials  of  a  beginning  crowd  around  him.  Life 
opens  in  its  serious  reality  before  him.  Instead  of  thinking 
of  a  crowd  of  clients,  as  when  he  argued  so  gloriously  in  his 
moot  court  in  the  case  of  Simpkins  vs.  Wilkins,  he  begins 
to  wonder  if  the  shadow  of  any  will  ever  rest  upon  his  book 
shelves.  His  ideas  of  practice  suddenly  become  homeo- 
pathic, in  the  minutest  sense  of  Hahneman  himself.  Even 
Henry  Clay,  in  the  height  of  his  greatness,  forgot  not  the 
trembling  joy  with  which  he  received  his  first  fee  of  fifteen 
shillings. 

If  a  physician,  he  purchases  his  lancets  and  '  pil.  hyd.'  or  his 
little  bottles  of  nux,  and  belledonna,  with  the  serious  ques- 
tion in  his  mind,  whether  the  investment  is  a  safe  one.  I 
remember  a  distinguished  physician  in  the  height  of  a  suc- 
cessful practice,  who  once  told  me  that  he  waited  nearly  a 
year  for  a  patient,  and  more  than  two  for  a  scanty  maintain- 
ance.  But  he  was  determined  to  succeed,  and  stood  faith- 
fully at  his  post. 

But  of  all  the  trying  things  in  this  trying  world,  I  verily 


10 

believe  the  yonng  minister's  first  sermon  must  bear  the  palm. 
His  heart  beats  like  a  trip  hammer  in  full  play ;  he  looks  down 
upon  his  congregation  of  faces  in  perfect  bewilderment;  he 
screws  up  his  courage  to  the  sticking  point,  and  if  he  has 
energy  of  will  sufficient,  finally  gets  through  with  a  very  flat 
sermon  without  breaking  utterly  down ! 

The  minister's  first  sermon — the  physician's  first  recipe — 
the  lawyer's  first  case — what  a  brotherhood  of  wonders!  how 
full  of  trembling  anxiety — of  earnest  hope — of  serious  mirth. 
Human  language  cannot  do  them  justice. 

Now  then,  in  the  progress  of  the  scholar's  life,  he  has 
entered  upon  the  period  of  probation.  For  years  he  must 
struggle  on  to  work  out  for  himself  a  character  and  a  posi- 
tion. Sometimes  indeed  circumstances  are  so  favorable, 
that  he  emerges  at  once  into  success,  but  it  is  so  seldom,  as 
hardly  to  need  mention.  The  very  greatest  names  on  the 
roll  of  fame,  endured  a  terrible  apprenticeship  in  their  first 
years  of  setting  up  in  life.  William  Wirt,  from  disappoint- 
ments, contracted  a  terrible  habit,  which  had  nearly  buried 
his  high  talents  in  a  drunkard's  grave,  and  was  only  rescued 
from  it  by  the  devoted  attachment  of  an  heroic  woman,  who 
became  the  companion  of  his  days  of  greatness.  The  very 
fact  of  being  a  young  man  is  an  obstacle  to  success.  You 
remember  the  answer  of  Jeremy  Taylor  to  one  of  the  bish- 
ops of  England,  when  he  presented  himself  before  him,  upon 
occasion  of  being  nominated  by  a  friend  to  a  preferment. 
Having  passed  an  examination  with  great  honor,  he  was  in- 
formed by  the  bishop  that  he  saw  no  objection  to  him  except 
his  age  ;  with  a  humble  bow,  Taylor  replied,  "  I  will  do  my 
best  to  overcome  that  defect,  if  you  will  give  me  time." 

Then  too  there  is  often  a  series  of  absolute  failures,  in  the 
first  experiences  of  men,  afterward  successful  in  a  high  de- 
gree. The  first  attempts  of  the  young  aspirant  are  more 
likely,  if  he  have  any  real  ability  and  fire,  to  be  crude  and 
half  digested,  than  to  come  up  in  any  manner  to  the  measure 
of  his  powers.  Your  men  of  shallow  capacity,  go  off  best 
at  the  first  fire.  The  greatest  minds  more  generally,  in 
their  first  efibrts,  "flash  in  the  pan."     The  reason  is  evident; 


11 

for  the  superficial  mind  does  not  originate,  but  simply  recasts 
the  ideas  of  others,  whereas  the  mind  of  true  power,  at  once 
throws  itself  n{)ou  its  own  independence,  and  tiiinks  out  its 
own  thoughts.  (Jf  course  the  first  effortvS  of  the  one,  will 
partake  of  the  maturity  of  the  superior  minds,  from  which 
they  borrow;  while  those  of  the  other  will  be  characterized 
by  the  friction  and  creaking  and  abortive  efforts,  which  always 
accompany  the  first  trial  movements  of  a  newly  invented 
machine.  The  apparatus  of  thought  has  not  been  properly 
oiled,  nor  has  it  come  into  harmony  with  itself,  so  that  it  can 
play  gracefully  and  with  unconscious  power.  Instances  of 
decided  failure  in  the  early  elforts  of  distinguished  men  are 
not  few.  Indeed  failures  would  seem  to  be  the  rule,  and  suc- 
cess the  exception  in  all  such  cases.  It  would  appear  that 
it  was  necessary  thus  to  discipline  the  awakening  faculties. 

Demosthenes,  when  he  appeared  first  in  public,  even  after  his 
long  discipline  by  the  sea  shore,  could  hardly  be  heard,  stam- 
mered under  the  greatest  embarassment,  and  with  difficulty 
escaped  breaking  down  entirely.  The  celebrated  Irish  orator 
Curran,  whose  words  seem  to  fiow  without  the  least  effort^ 
sat  down  overpowered  in  his  first  attempt,  after  many  useless 
efforts  at  utterance,  receiving  for  a  long  time  the  title  of  "ora- 
tor mum."  With  great  effort,  Henry  Clay  acquired  his  pow- 
er, making  many  a  failure  before  the  plows  and  harrows 
and  carts  and  cattle  in  his  father's  barn,  before  he  appeared 
in  public,  and  even  then  we  are  told  in  his  biography,  of  a 
ludicrous  attempt  at  public  speaking  in  addressing  a  debating 
club,  when  he  could  not  for  a  long  time  rid  himself  of  the 
idea  that  he  was  addressing  a  jury,  and  wuth  difficulty  re- 
covered from  the  embarassment  of  his  position.  So  too  the 
early  public  efforts  of  Webster,  did  not  by  any  means  come 
up  to  the  promise  of  his  talents,  but  served  as  failures  to 
nerve  him  to  higher  energy. 

The  great  Sir  Hum])hrey  Davy,  seemed  in  his  early  years 
about  to  make  a  failure  of  life,  giving  no  promise  of  schol- 
arship, and  satisfied  with  acquiring  only  the  rudiments  of  a 
classical  education ;  then  making  a  trial  of  a  new  calling 
under  the  direction  of  a  surgeon  and  apothecary,  he  gained 
no  other  honor  than  that  of  being  called  "  idle  and  incorrig- 


12 

able,"  until  finally  an  early  taste  for  chemical  science  received 
encouragement,  and  through  a  series  of  failures  and  successes, 
common  in  the  experience  of  chemists,  he  finally  obtained 
an  immortal  name.  The  celebrated  discoverer  of  the  method 
of  neutralizing  pain  in  surgical  operations,  the  late  Dr.  Hor- 
ace Wells,  persevered  in  a  series  of  ingenious  experiments 
for  various  ends,  with  many  failures,  till  the  final  triumph 
of  his  genius,  which  has  so  greatly  blessed  the  world.  The 
greatest  inventor  now  living  in  this  country,  to  whose  skill 
and  power  we  owe  the  Brussels  carpet  loom,  which  placed 
America  at  the  Great  Exhibition,  first  in  this  department,  and 
the  ingrain  carpet  loom,  and  the  counterpane  and  coach  lace, 
and  gingham  looms,  to  mention  no  other  of  lesser  note, 
persevered  in  poverty  and  discouragements  through  a  series  of 
failures  and  moves  in  false  directions,  till  finally  he  emerged 
into  his  present  well  merited  eminence  as  the  great  benefac- 
tor of  mankind,  in  contributing  to  the  industrial  forces  of 
the  world.* 

Byron's  first  work,  "  The  hours  of  Idleness,"  merited  the 
severe  castigation  it  received  from  the  pen  of  Brougham,  and 
the  utter  failure  which  it  proved,  united  with  the  criticism 
it  provoked,  roused  the  slumbering  energies  of  his  genius. 
Covvper's  first  poems  lay  unread,  till  the  reputation  of  the  au- 
thor of  the  Task,  brought  them  into  notice,  and  their  dull 
rhyme  was  submitted  to,  on  account  of  the  genius  of  the 
poem  written  at  lady  Austen's  request.  So  do  we  every  day 
wade  through  the  very  dryest  of  all  dry  productions,  if  they 
come  from  a  pen  immortalized  by  a  single  work  of  power. 


*  We  may  be  excused  for  alluding  to  a  valued  friend,  whose  genius  has  not 
as  yet  come  as  it  should  to  public  notice,  and  whose  private  virtues  are  equal  to 
his  genius;  E.  B.  Bigelow  M.  A.  of  Clinton,  Mass.  An  account  of  his  early 
life  and  inventions  may  bo  found  in  Appleton's  Encylojiedia  of  the  Mechanic 
Arts,  recently  published.  The  town  of  Clinton,  containing  some  3, .500  inhab- 
itants, is  the  result  of  the  industrial  forces  set  in  motion  by  his  inventive  power. 
This  town,  laid  out  and  fashioned  by  the  taste  and  energy  of  his  brother,  H, 
N.  Bigelow  Esq,  is  a  model  of  what  a  manufacturing  town  should  be,  though 
we  are  sorry  to  say  the  corporations  grumbled  not  a  little  at  tlio  liberality  dis- 
played, and  have  contributed  hardly  any  thing  to  institutions  ibr  the  intellectual 
and  moral  progress  of  the  people. 


13 

And  we  lay  earnest  claim  to  every  thing,  even  to  the  very 
scraps  and  rubbish  which  can  in  any  way  be  connected  with 
a  great  name.  Our  English  literature,  would  be  much  im- 
proved, if  half  of  the  writings  of  our  standard  authors  were 
blotted  out  of  existence.  Thus  we  felt  when  we  perused  the 
Poems  of  Tennyson,  brilliant  here  and  there  with  the  glow 
of  genius,  but  filled  up  intermittently  with  the  platitudes  of 
his  early  and  slumbering  eflorts.  Keats  died  because  he 
could  not  bear  the  discipline  of  his  first  experience,  and  re- 
coiled with  an  unwise  sensibility  from  the  truthful  criticism, 
that  he  was  a  genius  yet  in  tiie  green.  Bcattie's  first  works 
lay  unread.  The  catalogue  might  be  indefinitely  extended 
from  the  ranks  of  literary  men.  Turning  from  these  to  the 
clergy,  the  beaten  track  of  the  ages  to  the  composition  of 
good  sermons  has  been  through  poor  ones,  or  through  those 
which  can  hardly  be  called  sermons  at  all.  Thus  one  of  our 
first  living  preachers  does  not  hesitate  to  say,  that  he  can 
turn  out  twenty  as  poor  sermons  as  the  world  ever  saw. 
Occasionally  a  Spiyicer  or  a  Summerfield  may  break  upon 
the  world  in  a  glow,  but  it  is  with  appeals  to  the  emotions 
and  feelings  of  the  hour,  not  in  discourses  which  carry  within 
them  the  power  of  the  pulpit  for  all  ages. 

But  besides  the  early  failures,  there  is  still  a  more  serious 
difficulty  in  the  study  of  professional  life — the  matter  of  a 
livelihood — and  this  is  a  difficulty  often  life-long,  to  the  shame 
of  our  churches,  with  the  clergy.  Good  father  Burton  in  his 
famous  Anatomy,  has  a  ludicrous  account  of  the  trials  of 
ministers,  which,  albeit  there  is  much  reference  to  the  pat- 
ronage system  of  England  in  it,  has  so  much  truth,  applica- 
ble to  all  times  (for  there  is  much  of  a  patronage  system  every 
where)  that  I  shall  quote  it  entire. 

"Last  of  all"  says  he  "to  come  to  our  divines,  the  most 
noble  profession  and  worthy  of  double  honor,  but  of  all  others 
the  most  distressed  and  miserable.  If  you  will  not  believe 
me,  hear  a  brief  of  it,  as  it  was  not  many  years  since,  publicly 
preached  at  Paul's  Cross,  by  a  grave  minister  then  and  now 
a  reverend  bisho})  of  this  land ;  '  We  that  are  bred  up  in  learn- 
ing, and  dostinated  by  our  parents  to  this  end,  we  suffer  oiu: 


14 

childhood  in  the  grammar  school,  which  Austin  calls,  mag- 
nam  ti/rannidem  et  grave  mahim,  and  compares  it  to  the  tor- 
ments of  martyrdom ;  when  we  come  to  the  university,  if  we 
live  of  the  college  allowance,  as  Phalaris  objected  to  the  Leon- 
tines,  '  Tav  TMv  cv6cir  -'Siv  Xi/'ou  Kai  fojdov,'  uccdy  of  all  things  but  hun- 
ger and  fear,  or  if  we  be  maintained  but  partly  by  our  par- 
ent's cost,  do  expend  in  unnecessary  maintenance,  books  and 
degrees,  before    we    come  to    any   perfection,  five    hundred 
pounds  or  a  thousand  marks.     If  by  this  price  of  the  expense 
of  time,  our  bodies  and  spirits,  our  substance  and  patrimonies, 
we  can  not  purchase  those  small  rewards,  which  are  ours  by 
law,  and  the  right  of  inheritance,  a  poor   parsonage,  or  a 
vicarage  of  .£50  per  annum,  but  we  must  pay  to  the  patron 
for  the  lease  of  a  life,  (a  spent  and  outworn  life)  either  in 
annual  pension,  or  above  the  rate  of  a  copyhold,  and  that  with 
the  hazard  and  loss  of  our  souls,  by  simony  and  perjury,  and 
the  forfeiture  of   all  our  spiritual  preferments,  in  esse  and 
posse,  both  present  and  to  come,  what  father  after  a  while 
will  be  so  improvident,  to  bring  up  his  son  to  his  great  charge 
to  this  necessary  beggary?     What  christian  will  be  so  irre- 
ligious, to  bring  up  his  son  in  that  course  of  life,  which  by  all 
probability  and  necessity,  enforcing  to  sin,  will  entangle  him 
in  simony  and  perjury,  when  as  the  poet  said,  ^  Invitatus  ad 
haec  aiiquis  de  pontenegabitf  a  beggar's  brat  taken  from  the 
bridge,  where  he  sits  a  begging,  if  he  knew  the  inconvenience, 
had  cause  to  refuse  it.     This  being  thus,  have  not  we  fished 
fair  all  this  while,  that  are  initiate  divines,  to  find  no  better 
fruits  of  our  labors?     Is  it  for  this  we  rise  so  early  all  the 
year  long,  'leaping  as  he  saith  out  of  our  beds,  when  we 
hear  the  bell  ring,  as  if  we  had  heard  a  thunder  clap.     If  this 
be  all  the  respect  reward  and  honor  we  shall  have,  Frange  le- 
ves  c alamo s ;  let's  turn  soldiers,  sell  our  books  and  buy  swords, 
guns,  and  pikes,  or  stop  bottles  with  them,  turn  our  philoso- 
phers' gowns,  as  Cleanthes  once  did,  into  millers'  coats,  leave 
all  and  rather  betake  ourselves  to  any  other  course  of  life 
than  to  continue  longer  in  such  misery." 

In  this  graphic  account  of  the  trials  of  the  clergy,  from 
inadequate  salaries,  there  is  a  strange  oversight  of  the  rewards 
and  honors  in  reserve  for  the  faithful  servant  of  the  Most 


15 

High,  and  the  continual  joy  of  a  consciousness  of  Divine 
approbation.  No  true  minister  of  Christ,  would  be  tempted 
to  leave  his  work,  for  any  worldly  advantage.  lie  loves  his 
work  as  the  highest  committed  to  the  trust  of  mortal  man. 
Yet  for  all  this,  there  is  no  reason,  no  ri;,dit,  no  Christianity, 
in  the  meagre  stipends  paid  to  the  minister  at  the  altar,  by 
which,  they  are  often  so  loaded  with  worldly  cares,  as  to  be 
unfitted  for  the  spiritual  duties  of  their  ministry. 

Such  are  some  of  the  trials,  through  which  the  professional 
man  has  to  pass,  in  his  way  to  the  place  of  inlluenco,  which 
he  is  to  fill.  By  some  they  are  earlier  passed  than  by  others. 
When  passed,  life  assumes  a  new  phase.  Responsibility  and 
a  consciousness  of  power,  develop  new  characteristics  and 
energies.  The  work  of  life  is  now  fairly  reached.  The  dis- 
cipline of  preparation  is  over.  When  a  class  of  scholars 
meet  together  on  the  tenth  anniversary  of  their  graduation 
they  have  reached  this  point.  If  their  preparatory  education 
is  not  then  finished,  so  that  they  are  ready  now  to  work,  from 
their  new  and  advanced  position,  it  is  to  be  feared  that  it 
never  will  be.  The  great  worth  and  value  of  these  ten  years 
consist  in  the  education  they  give,  not  in  any  real  achiev- 
ments  in  life.  Something  indeed  has  all  along  been  done, 
but  nothing  in  comparison  to  what  is  to  be  done.  Power 
has  been  developing,  and  now  it  devolves  upon  the  scholar 
to  wield  it.     Henceforth  his  work  is  greater  and  nobler. 

His  habits  of  mind  are  now  formed  and  fixed.  Whatever 
they  are,  it  is  generally  too  late  to  disturb  them,  after  ten 
years  have  given  them  root.  And  even  if  some  of  them  are 
bad,  it  is  too  much  to  expect  that  he  shall  spend  his  whole 
life  in  attention  to  method,  when  there  is  so  much  to  be  done, 
just  as  if  a  soldier  should  spend  his  days  in  changing  the 
color  and  fashion  of  his  regimentals.  No  I  there  is  something 
to  be  achieved,  and  he  is  to  achieve  it.  He  has  spent  time 
enough  in  the  preparation.  Now  let  him,  with  earnest  heart, 
to  the  work.  A  thorough,  business-like  life  in  duty,  will  do 
more  to  rid  him  of  defects,  than  any  thing  else,  just  as  a 
thrifty  living  tree,  simply  by  living,  casts  oli"  its  decaying 
members. 

But  besides  the  formation  of  his  habits  of  mind,  he  has 


16 

learned  the  essential  requisite  of  self  reliance.  He  feels  the 
noble  dignity  of  truth  and  that  in  the  presentation  of  it  he 
needs  no  apology.  Regard  for  the  opinion  of  others,  which 
was  once  so  powerful,  has  given  place  in  the  progress  of 
his  experience,  to  a  regard  for  trath,  and  the  candor  and  reli- 
ability of  his  own  mental  processes  in  searching  for  truth. 
Then  too,  an  experience  of  ten  years  has  not  failed  to  give 
him  the  consciousness  of  an  internal  right  of  self  reliance. 
He  has  therefore  come  into  the  possession  of  an  essential 
element  of  power,  for  self  distrust  is  the  spirit  of  weakness. 
Self  reliance,  if  it  has  anything  like  a  respectable  foundation, 
and  if  it  be  not  inordinate,  is  absolutely  essential  to  a  com- 
manding influence. 

Moreover,  the  scholar  has  learned  in  his  ten  years  disci- 
pline his  true  work  and  end.  Personal  advancement  must 
sink  very  low  in  the  estimate  of  a  ti'ue  christian  scholar,  after 
ten  years  of  living  activity  in  the  world  around  him.  All  the 
little  objects  and  emulations  of  college  life  must  slide  far 
away  into  the  back  gi'ound  of  thought.  A  nobler  end  and 
a  higher  purpose  now  appears  to  view,  as  the  only  rational 
and  satisfying  end,  the  advancement  of  the  welfare  and  hap- 
piness of  the  world.  This  is  a  worthy  and  a  glorious  object 
of  pursuit.  In  the  words  of  the  great  philosopher  and  orator 
of  Rome ;  "quae  est,  ig-itm',  melior  in  hominum  g-enere  natura, 
qnam  eorum  qui,  se  natos  ad  homines  juvandos,  tutandos,  con- 
servandos,  arbitrantur  ?  Quid  propagatio  nominis,  quid  ipsa 
sepulcrorum  monumenta,  quid  elogia  significant  ?" 

Fellow  Classmates,  we  stand  in  an  advanced  position  in 
life.  Deeper  responsibilities  rest  upon  us.  Behind  us  are  our 
days  of  preparation.  Before  us  are  our  days  of  achievment. 
We  all  know  the  influence,  which,  in  all  the  professions,  and 
even  in  the  walks  of  unprofessional  life,  is  the  dignity  and 
the  glory  of  the  true  christian  scholar.  Let  us  to  the  utmost 
employ  the  power  committed  to  us  for  the  good  of  man. 
Let  not  the  ministers  at  the  altar  be  satisfied  with  fulfilling 
their  Sabbath  tasks,  with  dealing  out  from  commentaries  and 
theologies  their  weekly  allowance  to  their  people,  but  with 
earnestness  and  love  let  them  study  the  Holy  Word  for  them- 
selves, that  by  the  blessing  of  God,  they  may  cast  a  clearer 


17 

light  upon  its  saornrl  pages  and  extend  their  influence  beyond 
the  bounds  of  their  own  field  of  labor.  Let  tliein  not  grudge 
their  visits  to  the  poor  and  the  suftering,  but  superabounding 
in  such  labors  of  mercy,  let  them  imitate  the  Lord  Jesus  their 
Master. 

Let  not  the  physicians  engage  in  their  duties  as  the  mere 
drudgery  of  gain,  or  as  tlie  eternal  routine  of  an  unprogres- 
sive  profession,  but  with  a  noble  end  to  relieve  human  suffer- 
ing, let  them  dignify  their  vocations  with  the  spirit  of  philan- 
thropy; and  with  the  constant  study  of  all  new  means  of 
arresting  disease,  let  them  ennoble  their  calling  with  the  truth- 
fulness of  progress.  And  as  scholars  in  the  midst  of  the 
community,  wielding  from  the  very  nature  of  their  posi- 
tion power;  let  them  assist  to  the  utmost  every  good  and  holy 

cause. 

Let  the  lawyers  not  be  of  that  class,  which  merits  the  woe, 

becoming  the  mean  instruments  of  the  quarrelsome  and  the 
litigious,  but  with  a  manly  purpose,  let  them  seek  the  right 
and  the  true  in  the  deliberations  of  justice,  and  the  continued 
advancement  and  purification  of  the  laws;  while  in  their 
position  of  influence  they  are  ever  found  the  advocates  and 
earnest  supporters  of  every  thing  which  tends  to  the  advance- 
ment of  human  welfare. 

Let  not  the  members  of  the  teacher's  profession,  sit  down 
satisfied  with  the  recitations  of  the  day,  but  seeking  ever 
new  avenues  of  instruction  and  studying  earnestly  the  best 
means  of  education,  let  them  be  found  struggling  actively 
and  successfully,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  with  those  who  are 
now  endeavoring  to  raise  to  a  higher  point,  and  even  to  the 
highest  point,  our  system  of  schools. 

Let  not  those  scholars,  who  have  entered  no  profession, 
having  before  them  a  life  of  literary  pursuits,  fold  their  hands 
in  useless  idleness,  as  though  they  had  no  mission  of  good  to 
man.  Well  did  the  younger  Pliny  write  to  his  friend  Minu- 
tius;  ^^  Satin s  est  enim,  ut  Attilius  noster  eniditissimc  simul 
et  facetissime  dixit,  otiosum-  esse,  quam  nihil  ag-ere."  Let 
'''■otiosum    esse,"    be  cultivated   and  '■'■  iiiliil  ag-ere"   rejected. 

3 


•    18 

Let  your  leinire  not  be  idleness.     For  there  is  and  must  be 
in  a  true  scholar  ever  the  element  of  power. 

Classmates,  there  is  work  for  all.  We  have  reached  a 
point,  from  which  our  labors  should  tell  more  than  ever  be- 
fore, upon  the  destinies  of  those  arround  us.  Let  us  go  forth 
to  our  duties  from  this  anniversary,  resolved  in  the  strength 
of  a  higher  power,  to  do  service  for  God  and  humanity. 
Little  doth  it  matter  what  may  become  of  us,  or  what  be  said 
of  us,  if  we  do  our  work  and  receive  the  approbation  of  our 
Judge. 


PROCEEDINGS. 

Hartford,  July  28,  1852. 

The  Class  met  pursuant  to  adjournment  u])on  their  graduation  in  '4  2,  on 
the  day  preceding  the  annual  tonwiu-ncement,  in  the  Free  Episcopal  Chapel. 

The  Rev.  Charles  R.  Fishf.u  was  appointed  chairman. 

After  the  reading  of  prayers,  the  preceding  address  was  delivered  before 
the  Class  and  a  numl)er  of  invited  friends. 

On  motion  of  the  Rev.  T]ioJi.\s  Gallaudet,  it  was  voted  that  the  Rev. 
Charles  R.  Fisher  and  A.  N.  Le'Roy,  Esq.  be  a  committee  to  request  a 
copy  of  the  address  for  publication. 

Voted,  to  adjourn  to  meet  at  the  house  of  the  Rev.  Charles  R.  Fisher 
on  commencement  day  at  3  o'clock  P.  M. 

July  29th. 

The  class  met  pursuant  to  adjournment. 

Letters  Avere  read  Irom  several  members  of  the  class  unable  to  be  pres- 
ent. Those  present  gave  an  account  of  their  fortunes  since  they  were  grad- 
uated.    The  memories  of  those  departed  were  recalled  with  sadness. 

The  committee  on  the  address  reported  that  Mr.  CoRNiXG  consented  to 
yield  it  to  the  wishes  of  the  Class,  and,  on  motion,  they  were  requested  to 
superintend  the  printing  of  the  same. 

On  motion  of  the  Rev.  G.  Jarvis  Geer,  it  was  voted,  that  the  names  of 
the  members  of  the  Class,  with  their  present  residence,  so  far  as  ascertained, 
be  published  with  the  address. 

On  motion  of  A.  N.  Le'Roy  Esq.,  it  was  voted,  that  the  Class  will  erect  a 
suitable  monument  to  the  memorj'  of  their  late  classmate  Geo.  H.  Wales, 
and  that  the  Rev.  Henry  Olmstead  and  the  Rev.  Charles  R.  Fisher 
be  a  committee  to  prepare  a  plan  for,  and  procure  the  erection  of  the  same. 

On  motion  of  E.  W.  Braixard,  Esq.,  it  was  voted  that  another  meeting 
of  the  Class  be  held  on  the  commencement  of  1857. 

On  motion  of  the  Rev.  Henry  Olmstead,  voted,  that  the  members  of 
the  Class  resident  in  Hartford  in  1857  be  appointed  a  committee  to  issue  the 
call  and  make  arrangements  for  the  proposed  meeting. 

Voted,  that  the  Rev.  Charles  R.  Fishku  be  appointed  to  receive  any 
communications  which  may  be  made  to  the  Class  in  the  interim,  and  that 
members  be  requested  to  communicate  to  him  all  matters  of  interest  con- 
nected with  (he  Cla.ss. 

On  motion  of  H.  C.  Preston,  'M.  D.,  voted,  that  the  thanks  of  the  Class 
be  given  to  their  classmate  the  Rev.  Ch.vkles  R.  Fishku,  for  his  energetic 
and  successful  efforts,  in  issuing  the  call  and  making  arrangements  for  our 
delightful  gathering. 


2^rimiti|  C-oll^egi, 


CLASS     OF    JMDCCCXLII 


Henry  Nichols  Beers,  -        -        - 
Edavix  Whittlesey  Brainard, 
James  Stewart  Brander. 
Rev.  James  W.  Buadin,    - 
Rev.  Wieliaji  Hexry  Corning,    - 
Frederick  Cornwall. 
"WiLLi.^M  Adhiel  Ely,    -        -        - 
Rev.  Charles  Richmond  Fisher, 
Rev.  Israel  Foote,         -        _        . 
Edward  Carroll  Franklin,  M.  D. 
Rev.  Thomas  Gallaudet, 
Rev.  George  Jarvis  Geer, 
Rev.  Eli.tah  Guion,        _        .        . 
George  Rogers  Hall,  M.  D.,  - 
George  Hall  Hazlehurst. 
Augustus  Newbold  Le'Roy,    - 
Thomas  Otis  Le'Roy,     -        -        - 
John  Marshall,         .        _        - 
Rev.  James  Mulchahey, 
Rev.  Abel  Ogden,      -        -        - 
Rev.  Hexry  Olmstead, 
*Rev.  Charles  Foote  Peake. 
Rev.  Charles  Edward  Phelps,    - 
Henry  Canfield  Preston,  M  .D., 
*George  Rossiter. 
Laxdaff  Strong. 
Rev.  Baylies  Philips  Talbot, 
WiNSLOW  Decatur  Tracy, 
Coertlaxd  Van  Buren, 
*Geokge  Hexry  Wales. 
Rev.  Abraham  Joseph  Warner,  - 
Charles  AVesley  Wooster, 

♦  Dead. 


Newtown,  Conn. 

-  Lynchburg,  Va. 

-  Holland  Patent,  N,  Y. 
Hartford,  Conn. 

Brovmville,  Jefferson  Co.  N.  Y. 

-  Hartford,  Conn. 
Bainhridge,  N.  Y. 

-  New  York  City. 
New  York  City. 

-  Ballston  Spa,  N.  Y. 
Carrolton,  La. 

-  Shanghai,  China. 

-  Hartford,  Conn. 
NeiD  York  City. 

-  Salem,  Fauquier  County,  Va. 
Middlebwy,  Vt. 

Canton,  St.  Lawrence  Co.  N.  Y. 
Branford,  Conn. 

Whitehall,  N.  Y. 

-  Providence,  B.  L. 


Woonsocket,  R.  J. 
Chicago,  III. 
Brooklyn,  N.  Y.- 
Grand De  Tour,  111. 
Bristol^  R.  L 


®crm  Sermon. 


THE 


STUDENT'S  PREPARATION  FOR  LIFE: 


DELIVERED  BEFORE  THE 


0tubcnt0  of  ©rtnitg  <!Iollcgc,  i^artforD, 


ON   SUNDAY  EVENING,  SEPT.  26,  1852, 


AND  PUBLISHED  AT  THEIR  REQUEST. 


BY  THE  REV.  THOMAS  M.  CLARK,  D.  D., 

RECTOR  OF   CHKIST  CHURCH,  HARTFORD. 


*¥-*- 


HARTFORD: 

I'riU.TrtllED    BY    F.    A.    BROWN, 

1852. 


PRESS  OF   CASE,  TIFFAKY   AXD    COJirANY. 


The  Ekv.  THOMAS  M.  CLARK,  D.  D. 
Reverend  and  Dear  Sir  : 

We  the  undersigned,  jrraduate  and  under-graduatc  members  of 
Trinity  College,  having  Hstened  with  mueh  pleasure,  and  we  trust 
profit,  to  your  Tenn  Sermon  delivered  in  Christ  Church  last  eve- 
ning, and  desiring  that  greater  publicity  should  be  given  to  it  in 
order  that  those  who  had  not  an  opportunity  of  hearing,  may  en- 
joy the  perusal  of  the  same;  request  a  copy  for  pubhcation. 

We  are  truhj  yours. 


JOHN  BIJAIXARI).  B.  A., 

CHARLES  J.  IIOADLV,  H.  A., 

JOHN  N.  MARVIX,  B.  A., 

GEORGE  D.  SARGEAXT,  B.  A., 

WILLIAM  H.  MUXHOE,  B.  A., 

WILLIAM  K.  DOUGLAS,  B.  A., 

JOHN  C.  DUBOIS, 

F.  T.  lU'SSELL, 

HIRAM  STOXE, 

A.  F.  GOULD,  M.  A., 

JOHX  U.  M-IXTOSH, 

JAMES  BUCHANAN, 

E.  WINSLOW  WILLIAMS, 

HENRY  A.  PERRY, 

A.  HAMILTON  POLK, 

D.  B.  KXICKKRIUJCKER, 

ALFRED  L.  BREWER, 

ROBERT  AXDREWS, 

ISAAC  S.  WHEATOX, 

WALTER  WEIR, 

LOUIS  FKEXCH, 

JAMES  P.  BOWMAN, 

J.  M'CORMACK, 

WILLIAM  G.  SPENSER, 

WILLIAM  F.  STAUNTON, 

JAMES  K.  BIRD, 

J.  M.  DICK, 

GILES  A.  EASTON, 

RUFUS  EMERY, 

DAVID  GREGG, 


SAMLT^L  HALL, 
JAMES  M.  IIR'KS, 
HORACE  B.  HITCHINGS, 
JA:\IES  D.  HEWITT, 
WILLLVM  A.  HITCHCOCK, 
JOHN  H.  HODGES, 
GEORGE  D.  JOHNSON, 
JOHX  H.  JOXES,  Jr., 
DE  WITT  CLIXTON  JONES, 
C.  S.  LEFFIXGWELL, 
JOHX  M.  PECK, 
J.  ATTICUS  ROBERTSON, 
CORNELIUS  B.  SMITH, 
JAMES  H.  WILLIAMS, 
JOHN  R.  WILLIAMS, 
JOHX  GARDNER   WHITE, 
WILLIAM  S.  YERGER, 
FREDERICK  CLAPP, 
JAMES  E.  COLEY, 
JOHX  XEWBOLD  COXE, 
ROBERT  M.  CRANE, 
GEO.  ALBERT  DE  FOREST, 
GEO.  SMITH  DEVEXDORF, 
SAMUEL  EDSOX, 
EDWARD  B.  HUGHES, 
GEO.  C.  JARVLS, 
ARTHUR  C.  KXOBLOCK, 
LUKE  A.  LOCKWOOD, 
JOHX  L.  OVERFIELD, 
ELISHA  TRACY, 


GEORGE  A.  WOODWARD, 
CIIARLKS  F.  GREEN, 
HENRY  PHELPS, 
W.  B.  KRU.MBHAAR, 
A.  H.  "\VILD:\IAN,  Jr., 
P.  P.  WIGGINS, 
EDWARD  0.  JIITCHELL, 
EDWIN  P.  BOLLES, 
ARTHUR  W.  ANDREWS, 
J.  F.  BISBEE, 
CHARLES  E.  BULKLEY, 
W.  C.  CLEMENT, 


D.  K.  CADY,  Jr., 
CHARLES  H.  DENNISON, 
S.  J.  DEUEL, 
RHOADS  FISHER, 
EDA\1N  R.  GARDINER, 
ROBERT  GARDINER, 

D.  E.  HOLCOMB, 
CORNELIUS  W.  LAURENCE,  Jr., 
HUGH  M'GEGORY, 

A.  T.  POST, 
CHARLES  A.  SUMNER, 

E.  R.  TOMLINSON. 


I'. 

I 


^•» 


Messrs.  John  Brainard,  B.  A., 
John  C.  Dubois, 
John  H.  M'Intosh, 
A.  Hamilton  Polk, 
E.  W.  "Williams,  and  others. 
Gentlemen  : 
Tlic  sermon  wliicli  was  preached  before  you  last  evening,  was 
written  in  great  haste  and  with  no  thought  of  its  publication  ;  iind 
still  I  do  not  feel  at  liberty  to  decline  your  polite  request. 

Very  truly  yours, 

THOMAS  M.  CLARK. 
Hartford,  Sept.  27,  1852. 


SERMON. 


I.  St.  Jonx,  2:  14. — I  have  written  unto  you,  tounq  men,  because  ye 

ARE   STKONO. 

It  was  a  saying  of  the  great  sacred  poet  of  Eng- 
land, "  To  be  weak  is  the  true  misery."  A  vacilla- 
ting mind,  an  infirm  will,  inability  to  resist  tempta- 
tion, is  indeed  "  the  true  misery."  It  depends  mainly 
upon  our  early  discipline,  whether  or  not  this  shall 
be  the  character  of  our  life.  The  young  man  is 
strong,  not  in  his  acquirements,  but  his  capacities : 
his  powers  are  latent,  and  they  may  be  indefinitely 
expanded,  or  by  neglect,  they  may  shrivel  and  go 
to  decay. 

Those  of  yon,  who  are  now  passing  from  child- 
hood to  maturity,  will  enter  the  arena  of  active  life 
at  a  most  interesting  and  influential  period  of  the 
world's  history.  Faithfully  to  discharge  your  part 
in  the  approaching  era  will  tax  the  mightiest  ener- 
gies of  your  being,  and  demands  of  you  now  the 
sternest  and  most  thorough  preparation. 

The  next  fifty  years  will  be  one  of  the  most 
momentous  epochs  in  the  annals  of  our  race.  It  is 
possible  that  practical  science  may  not  continue  to 


6 

multiply  inventions  and  improvements  as  rapidly  as 
it  has  done  during-  the  last  half-century ;  for  it 
would  seem  as  though  mechanical  art  had  already 
accomplished,  in  a  great  measure,  all  that  the  exi- 
gencies of  our  social  state  require. 

But  what  has  been  done,  by  the  generation 
which  is  soon  to  pass  away,  has  been  only  prepara- 
tory to  the  practical  solution  of  certain  great  politi- 
cal, social,  and  ethical  problems,  upon  which  the 
destiny  of  man,  for  weal  or  for  woe,  is  intimately 
suspended.  There  will  be  great  contests  of  opin- 
ion and  thought — before  you,  whom  I  address  to- 
night, have  closed  your  mortal  career — which  will 
put  your  intellectual  and  your  moral  powers  to  the 
severest  test.  This  trial  will  not  be  for  mere  ab- 
stractions, but  for  solemn  realities,  such  as  take 
right  hold  of  man's  temporal  and  eternal  destiny. 

That  young  man,  who  now  fits  himself  by  care- 
ful study  and  holy  religious  discipline,  to  act  well 
his  part  in  this  grand  crisis,  will  find  around  him 
the  noblest  opportunities  for  action,  and  will  raise 
for  himself  the  proudest  trophies ;  while  he,  who 
allows  his  youthful  energies  to  become  enervated 
by  indolence  and  unwholesome  pleasure,  will  find 
himself  an  incumbrance  on  the  battle-field,  and  be 
hustled  off  into  obscurity. 

The  character  of  the  world  is  to  be  impressed 
for  good  or  for  evil,  more  decisively  during  your 
lifetime,  than  it  ever  has  been  before,  in  one  gener- 
ation, since  the  Christian  era.  All  the  parts  of 
the  globe  are  fast  coming  into  intimate  contact,  and 
the  strongest  influence  will  impart  its  hue  to  the 


whole.  Tlicre  will  soon  be  no  such  thing  as  dis- 
tance; no  place  on  the  face  of  the  earth  in  whicii 
a  nation  can  insulate  itself  'J'he  westward  tide  of 
empire,  -which  has  flowed  continuously  from  the 
creation  of  man  down  to  the  present  hour,  has  now 
reacho<l  its  terminus,  and  the  reflex  current  has 
begun  to  run,  China  is  sending  lier  emigrants 
eastward;  Japan  Avill  soon  be  unsealed;  Aus- 
tralasia is  becoming  another  Britain;  a  line  of 
light  is  gradually  kindling  along  the  shores  of  Afri- 
ca; Christianity  and  civilization  are  in  the  ascend- 
ant, as  they  never  were  before.  And  in  Christen- 
dom herself,  great  movements  have  commenced, 
bearing  upon  the  interests  of  humanity,  which  will 
require  the  noblest  powers  of  the  noblest  minds,  to 
carry  to  a  successful  issue.  Their  aim  is  the  practi- 
cal application  of  the  blessings  of  Christ's  gospel 
to  all  classes  of  society ;  and  to  reproduce  that 
style  of  religion  which  Jesus  taught,  and  which 
Jesus  lived.  Surely,  in  such  a  prospect  as  this, 
there  is  stimulus  enough  to  incite  you  to  diligent 
improvement  of  the  advantages  with  which  you 
are  favored. 

Those  of  you,  who  stand  to-night  on  the  thresh- 
old of  your  collegiate  life,  have  your  future  in  your 
own  hands :  if  you  so  will,  every  day  may  bring 
Avitli  it  its  own  peculiar  blessing ;  you  may  go  on, 
gaining  new"  strength,  new  knowledge,  and  new 
grace,  continually.  But,  in  a  few,  short  years, 
whicli  will  liave  gone  like  a  flash,  this  future  will 
be  past,  and  its  errors  and  follies,  it  will  be  too  late 
to  remedy.     And,  if  you  could  read  the  secret  ex- 


8 

perience  of  those  who,  in  their  maturity,  are  forced 
to  look  hack  upon  a  college  life  unimproved  and 
"wasted ;  if  you  could  see  the  struggles  which  they 
constantly  endure,  for  want  of  that  early  culture, 
which  would  have  made  all  after-study  a  pleasure, 
and  deep  thought  natural  and  grateful ;  if  you  could 
see  the  agonies  which  they  suffer,  in  striving  to 
throw  off  the  dominion  of  evil  habits,  acquired  and 
fostered  by  youthful  indulgence  ;  if  you  could  read 
the  bitter  memories  which  rob  the  past  of  all  its 
sweetness,  and  make  retrospection  a  torment ;  I 
tell  you,  my  young  friends,  there  is  not  one  of  you 
that  would  not  resolve  this  night,  praying  on  your 
knees  for  God  to  help  you,  to  overcome  your  native 
indolence,  to  crush  every  evil  habit  in  the  germ,  to 
shun  all  vice  without  and  all  unholy  fancies  within, 
as  you  would  the  pestilence,  and  consecrate  every 
power  and  faculty  to  the  service  of  Christ,  of  hu- 
manity, and  of  truth. 

There  are  three  sorts  of  strength,  which  you 
need  to  cultivate  by  discipline,  physical,  intellect- 
ual and  spiritual.  Allow  me  to  offer  a  few  sugges- 
tions upon  each  of  these  points. 

I.  It  is  indispensable,  in  order  to  the  best  devel- 
opment of  your  powers,  that  you  should  carefully 
guard  against  every  indulgence  and  every  habit, 
which  tends  to  unnerve  your  physical  system,  and 
incapacitate  the  body  to  be  the  ready  servitor  of 
the  mind.  The  machine  should  be  kept  in  good, 
working  order.  Pliysical  inertia  will  induce  men- 
tal torpor.  A  tainted  body  will  impart  its  taint  to 
llif  soul.     Firmufss  of  nerve  must  exist,  in  order 


to  the  firm  action  of  the  will,  Our  educated  men 
are  sadly  deficient  in  that  healtliy  robustness,  which 
is  so  important  to  their  energy  ot"  thought  and  ac- 
tion. And  this  is  owing,  in  a  great  measure,  to 
their  ignorance  or  neglect  of  physiological  law. 
The  intimate  and  vital  connection  between  the 
physical,  the  mental,  and  the  moral,  is  a  point  which 
has  been  strangely  neglected  in  our  education.  It 
is  only  when  this  outraged  law  begins  to  avenge  its 
neglect  and  make  us  sulVer,  that  we  learn  to  recog- 
nize its  existence.  A  morbid  body  must  induce  a 
morbid  mind.  There  are  many  developments  of 
unhealthy  character,  which  have  their  seat  in  an 
unhealthy  body.  Ill-temper,  fretfulness,  selfish  las- 
situde, suspiciousness,  and  numberless  other  quali- 
ties which  serve  to  make  men  disagreeable,  origi- 
nate there.  Now,  whatever  affects  the  clearness 
of  our  perceptions  or  the  purity  of  our  thoughts,  is 
surely  worth  regarding ;  and  let  me  solemnly  as- 
sure you,  that  you  can  have  neither  wholcsomeness 
of  mind  or  of  heart,  unless  you  do  regard  these 
conditions.  Sound  principles  are  of  little  practical 
avail,  without  good  habits ;  and  most  men  are  more 
controlled  by  their  habits  than  their  principles. 
How  often  do  we  hear  men  say,  "  I  know  that  I 
ought  to  do  this  or  that,  but  I  can  not :  my  will  is 
too  feeble  to  obey  my  conscience."  This  is  a  de- 
plorable condition,  when  the  law  of  the  members 
wars  successfully  against  the  law  of  the  mind  ;  it  is 
the  most  horrible  form  of  slavery ;  and  there  is  a 
point  in  experience,  when  it  seems  to  be  a  hopeless 
slavery.     Many  a  man   is  held   in  the  bonds  of  a 


10 

licentiousness  which  he  loathes,  and  drinks  of  a 
cup  which  he  would  be  glad  to  dash  to  the  earth 
if  he  could — despising  himself  for  doing  what  his 
lower  nature  compels  him  to  do. 

My  friends,  if  you  would  avoid  this  loathsome 
self-servitude,  begin  now  to  exercise  stern  self- 
restraint  in  every  thing  which  your  conscience  for- 
bids ;  check  the  beginnings  of  evil ;  stop  the  start- 
ing ball  before  it  rolls  itself  up  into  an  avalanche ;  ex- 
tinguish the  fire,  before  it  envelops  you  in  its  flame. 
Now  is  the  day  of  your  salvation.  These  college 
years  may  be  the  crisis  of  your  existence.  They 
will  inevitably  stamp  an  indelible  impress  upon 
that  existence.  If  you  should  do  evil  now,  and 
afterward  through  God's  grace  recover,  you  would 
rise  up  weakened,  soiled,  and  degraded  in  your  own 
eyes.  It  is  a  thousand-fold  better  not  to  sin,  than 
to  sin  and  then  repent.  God  may  forgive  us,  but 
we  can  not  forgive  ourselves.  Heaven  may  be 
opened  to  us,  but  there  can  be  no  heaven  for  us 
here  on  earth.  Life  loses  its  bloom,  when  the  hand 
of  corruption  has  brushed  across  it.  And  then,  re- 
member, you  may  not  repent.  In  the  evil  path, 
which  you  now  choose,  you  may  travel  on  to  the 
end ;  down,  down  to  those  gloomy  regions  of  moral 
darkness,  where  no  sunbeam  ever  shines.  If  you 
have  entered  that  path,  stop  where  you  are,  take 
not  another  step ;  but  cry  unto  God  to  rescue  you. 
One  more  step  may  seal  your  doom ! 

II.  In  order  that  you  may  be  prepared  for  the 
serious  responsibilities  of  your  future  life,  it  is  also 
indispensable  that  you  should  now  improve,  to  the 


11 

best  possible  advantage,  all  the  facilities  which  you 
have  for  intellectual  culture  and  discipline. 

If  time  allowed,  I  Avould  be  f^^lad  to  enlarge  upon 
the  beneficial  moral  effect,  which  results  from  the 
habit  oi^  careful  study  and  earnest  thou<^ht.  It  is 
the  vacant  soil  that  is  taken  i)ossession  of  by  ven- 
omous reptiles  and  noxious  weeds.  The  surest 
way  to  keep  bad  thoui^hts  out  of  the  mind  is  to 
keep  it  full  of  good,  ^\holesome,  invigorating 
thoughts ;  such  as  tax  its  energies,  absorb  its  inter- 
est, and  make  it  glo^v  with  ruddy  life.  A  great 
part  of  all  our  sin  and  suffering  comes  of  a  flaccid 
will,  from  mental  and  moral  inertness ;  and  it  is  the 
effect  of  real  study  and  thought  to  brace  the  will, 
and  to  give  that  activity  to  the  nobler  powers,  by 
which  we  instinctively  resist  the  insidious  attacks 
of  temptation. 

I  might  also  enlarge,  if  it  were  not  through  fear 
of  wearying  your  patience,  upon  the  fact  that  all 
the  pleasure  of  study  depends  upon  the  degree  of 
thoroughness  with  which  you  study.  Our  interest 
in  any  subject  is  proportioned  to  the  accuracy  and 
minuteness  of  our  knowledge  of  that  subject.  It 
is  therefore  of  great  importance  that  you  master 
most  carefully  the  lluuhunental  principles  of  every 
branch  of  knowledge,  which  you  attempt  to  study. 
To  fuid  one's  self,  sailing  about  at  random  beyond 
sight  of  land,  having  left  the  shore  in  a  fog,  is  never 
very  agreeable  or  serviceable.  If  you  would  make 
your  college  life  pleasant  and  profitable  ;  if  you 
would  have  your  studies  animate,  instead  of  de- 
pressing you,  you  must  start  right.     You  must  see 


12 

to  it,  that  the  foundations  are  not  out  of  joint. 
That  buikling  will  be  rickety  and  insecure,  whicli 
is  erected  upon  an  insecure  foundation ;  and  it  is 
not  very  easy  to  repair  the  foundation,  after  the 
house  is  built. 

But  the  point  to  which  I  desire  to  call  your  spe- 
cial attention,  is  the  necessity  of  acquiring  a  true 
and  profound  mental  disciphne,  habits  of  real,  act- 
ual thought,  in  order  to  your  being  prepared  for  the 
exigences  which  lie  before  you',  as  the  future 
guides  of  public  opinion  and  conduct.  Now  it  is 
possible  to  crowd  the  mind  with  facts,  without  any 
vital,  mental  culture.  There  must  be  an  exercise 
of  the  mind  upon  each  fact,  as  it  is  received ;  or 
the  intellect  becomes  a  mere  receptacle — a  reser- 
voir, and  not  a  running  stream.  Education  consists 
very  much  in  gorging  the  mind  with  knowledge,  and 
there  is  not  always  that  care  taken,  which  a  sound 
psychology  would  dictate,  to  see  that  this  food  is 
properly  digested,  and  taken  up  into  the  vital  circula- 
tion, to  be  converted  into  serviceable  bone  and  sinew. 
But  the  time  is  fast  coming,  when  this  plethoric 
feeding  will  not  suffice.  There  is  a  power  of  thought 
developing  itself  outside  of  our  colleges,  and  be- 
yond the  circle  of  what  are  called  the  educated 
classes,  wiiich  you  will  be  forced  to  meet  and  to 
recognize ;  your  dictum,  as  a  man  of  liberal  educa- 
tion will  not  suffice,  unless  you  can  show  that  your 
opinion  has  a  good  basis.  There  is  sometimes  as 
much  real  thought  in  the  workshop,  as  in  the  study. 
The  liberal  professions  as  they  are  termed,  are 
losing  their  relative  ascendency,  in  the  region  of 


13 

influence  and  opinion.  There  is  as  much  intelli- 
gence, and  perhaps  more  of  real,  rohust  thoujjht 
outside  of  their  charmed  circle,  as  within  it.  The 
press,  for  instance,  is  fast  encroaching  upon  the 
pulpit,  so  that  it  has  been  well  said,  we  are  now 
"  press-ridden,  instead  of  priest-ridden."  Men  are 
falling  into  the  way  of  submitting  their  disputes  to 
arbitration,  instead  of  encountering  the  glorious  un- 
certainty of  the  laAV.  There  are  few,  who  do  not 
feel  themselves  competent  to  criticise  the  diagnosis 
of  their  family  physician,  and  who  have  not  some 
favorite  system,  which  they  consider  superior  to 
the  regular  practice.  Nou',  in  this  emergency, 
what  are  we  to  do  ?  Shall  we  look  with  contempt 
upon  all  these  popular  tendencies,  and  go  scornfully 
on  our  way,  regardless  of  all  the  great  phenomena 
of  our  times  ?  The  result  will  be  that  we  shall  be 
despised  in  turn,  and  allowed  to  go  on  our  way, 
quietly  and  alone. 

No,  my  young  friends :  if  you  would  be  of  real 
service  in  your  generation,  and  take  that  high  rank 
among  your  fellows,  which  your  present  advantages 
should  qualify  you  to  take,  you  must  understand 
the  nature  of  the  times  in  which  you  are  to  live, 
and  prepare  yourselves,  by  the  most  diligent  study, 
by  liberal  and  comprehensive  thought,  and  by  earn- 
estness, simplicity  and  purity  of  ])urpose,  to  en- 
counter the  tremendous  responsibilities  that  will 
devolve  upon  you.  It  is  perhaps  a  greater  privi- 
lege to  live  in  these  days,  than  ever  before ;  but  then 
there  has  never  been  a  period,  in  which  true  nobil- 
ity of  soul,  elevation  of  purpose,  self-sacrificing  in- 


14 

tegrity,  have  been  subjected  to  a  severer  ordeal.  If 
you  are  content  just  to  lloat  with  the  popular  cur- 
rent, you  may  float  peacefully  down  to  quick  obliv- 
ion ;  but,  if  you  W' ish  to  live  in  the  memory  and 
the  hearts  of  those  who  will  come  after  you,  if  you 
wish  that  future  generations  should  call  you  blessed, 
you  must  be  prepared  to  breast  the  current,  you 
must  be  ready  to  sacrifice  the  pleasure  of  the  mo- 
ment at  the  call  of  conscience  and  of  God  ;  you 
must  seek  first  tlie  kingdom  of  God  and  His  right- 
eousness, and  leave  all  which  concerns  yourself  in 
His  hands. 

in.  And  this  leads  me  to  remark,  in  the  last  place, 
that  you  can  not  be  properly  trained  for  the  serious 
duties  which  lie  before  you,  as  men  of  influence 
and  education,  unless  you  are  early  strengthened 
with  might  hij  God's  Spirit  in  the  inner  man. 

I  know  precisely  the  feeling  with  w  hich  some  of 
you  will  listen,  wlien  I  come  upon  the  ground  of 
positive  religion.  Now,  you  will  say,  we  shall  have 
something  technical  and  professional ;  something 
appropriate  to  candidates  for  the  ministry ;  some- 
thing, which  it  may  be,  will  be  of  interest  to  us, 
when  old  age  or  some  dangerous  illness  comes,  and 
the  things  of  the  world  have  ceased  to  interest  us. 
What  has  been  uttered  thus  far  is  all  well  enough ; 
but  now  the  discourse  w  ill  take  a  turn,  not  very 
appropriate  or  interesting  to  free-hearted  and  spir- 
ited young  men.  Dissipation  is  a  bad  thing,  and  it 
is  all  right  to  preach  up  good  morals ;  but  if  you 
are  about  to  call  upon  us  to  be  religious,  that  is 
another  matter.     You  feel  then  that  there  is  some- 


15 

thing  degrading  in  religion  ;  tliat  it  is  rather  incon- 
gruous to  your  position  as  young  men ;  and,  that  it 
involves  a  degree  of  constraint  and  uidiap[)iness,  to 
Avhicli  you  do  not  wish  to  be  subjected  any  sooner 
than  it  can  be  helped.     What  is  religion  ?     It  is 
the  solemn  consecration  of  all  the  powers  of  our 
being  to  the  God  who  gave  us  tliat  being.     What 
is  religion  ?     It  is  the  reduction  of  the  soul  to  that 
order  and  harmony,  which  is  the  restoration  of  the 
image  of  God,  in  which  man  was  originally  made. 
What  is  religion  ?     It  is  the  subjection  of  the  lower 
to  the  higher  functions  of  our  nature  ;  of  passion  to 
principle,  desire  to  conscience,  the  beast  to  the  an- 
gel.    What  is  religion  ?     It  is  to  live  for  the  grand 
and  eternal  object  for  which  God  gave  us  an  im- 
mortal existence  ;  and  to  subordinate  this  world  to 
the  next.     What  is  religion  ?     It  is  to  take   the 
Lord  Jesus  as  the  guide  and  pattern  of  our  lives ;  to 
receive  him  in  faith  as  our  Saviour;  to  assume  the 
badge  of  Christian  discipleship,  and  follow  Christ 
through  evil  and  good  report,  unto  the  end.     This 
is  religion  :  is  there   any   thing  degrading  in  it  ? 
any  thing  unmanly  in  it  ?  Is  there  any  element  of 
wretchedness     in    it  ?     any    thing,    which  makes 
it  exclusively  appropriate  to  old  age,  and  sickness, 
and  death  ?     The  religion  ^\  Inch  I  would  exhort 
you  to  attain,  and  attain  now,  is  a  glorious  reality, 
and  is  as  appropriate  to  the  pursuits  and  duties  of  this 
world  as  of  any  other,  and  is  more  appropriate  to 
the  season  of  youth  than  to  any  subsequent  period, 
because  it  is  then  more  needed.     You  are  not  safe 
for  a  day  without  it.     You  do  not  know  how  weak 


16 

you  are,  till  you  are  tried ;  and  you  can  not  tell 
what  trial  a  day  may  bring  forth.  And  O,  my 
friends,  to  lose  the  soul,  to  have  your  personal  ex- 
istence become  a  failure,  to  crawl  through  the 
world  leaving  only  the  slime  of  corruption  behind, 
can  you  endure  such  a  prospect  as  this  ? 

Some  of  you  have  just  left  the  home  around 
which  all  the  past  associations  of  your  life  are  gath- 
ered, and  you  have  come  up  to  this  seat  of  learning, 
to  fit  yourselves  for  the  stern  battle  of  life.  You 
can  have  no  adequate  conception  of  the  solemn  in- 
terest with  which  those,  who  once  watched  over 
your  infancy  and  childhood,  now  trace  your  peril- 
ous progress  to  maturity.  The  father  looks  upon 
his  son,  as  though  in  him  he  was  to  live  over  another 
life.  It  is  possible  that  you  may  bring  down  that 
father's  gray  hairs  with  sorrow  to  the  grave.  The 
true  mother  would  gladly  die  to  save  her  child 
from  death ;  and  still  she  would  rather  come  here 
to  lay  your  youthful  form  under  the  sod,  than  see 
vou  go  astray  from  the  paths  of  truth  and  virtue. 
It  is  hard  to  lose  a  son  by  the  ordinance  of  God,  it 
is  hard  to  bury  him  out  of  our  sight,  and  see  his 
familiar  face  no  more  on  earth ;  but  O !  a  thousand- 
fold harder  must  it  be,  to  see  him  live  and  make 
shipwreck  of  his  soul. 

My  young  friends,  it  is  not  a  morbid  or  an  un- 
manly religion  which  I  exhort  you  to  cultivate  in 
this  precious  season  of  youth  :  I  merely  beg  you  to 
follow  the  voice  of  conscience  and  of  God.  You 
probably  will  soon  establish  the  character,  which 
you  will  sustain  through  life,  and  carry  over  with 


17 

you  into  eternity.  What  shall  that  character  be  ? 
This  <^reat  question,  each  one  of  yon  must  settle 
for  himself.  Will  you  settle  it  to-ni<^ht  ?  Will 
you  to-night  turn  your  face  heavenward;  resolving 
in  the  strength  of  the  living  God,  to  consecrate  tlie 
powers  which  God  has  given  you,  to  his  blessed 
service  ?  If  you  really  do  this  and  then  live  ac- 
cording to  this  resolve,  what  joyful  memories  will 
hereafter  cluster  around  this  holy  evening  !  You 
know,  in  your  souls,  that  you  ought  to  do  this. 
Why  then  will  you  not  follow  the  dictate  of  your 
conscience  ?  Are  you  ashamed  to  heed  the  voice 
of  God  ?  What !  so  "  brave  toward  God,  and  such 
cowards  toward  men  ?" 

The  only  thing  of  which  a  man,  old  or  young, 
need  ever  be  ashamed,  is  sin.  The  only  true  no- 
bility is  found  in  the  service  of  truth  and  of  God. 

3 


^I)c  Stan^arb  of  2lppcal  on  boublful  points,  u)I)crc  tl)c  Biblt 

fails  to  proiince  unitrj. 


A  SERMON, 


DKMVKRKD   DKKORK 


THE    STUDENTS    AND    MEMBERS 


OF 


^rinitn  College, 


IN    ST.    JOHN'S  CHURCH,    HARTFORD,  CONM., 

At  Evening  Service,  Nov.  14,  1852. 


BY  THE  REV.  THOMAS  \V.  COIT,  D.  D., 

PROFEHSOR    OF   ECCLESIASTICAL    IIISTORV. 


Coiitni  Kationem,  nemo  sobrina  ; 
contra  Scriptiiras,  nemo   Christianus  ; 
contra  Ecclcsiam,  nemo  pacificus  Bonserit. 

Augustine  de  Trinitale,  L.  iv.  ck.  6. 


H  A  UT  FOKD: 

8.    HANMICR  &    CO. dALEND^Ui    PRESS. 

1  852. 


The  consideration  of  the  unhappy  condition  of  the  Christian  world  and  the  inf- 
nite  distractions  of  men's  minds,  not  ivnowing,  in  so  great  variety  of  opinions,  what 
to  think,  or  to  whom  to  join  themselves,  (every  faction  boasting  of  the  pure  and  sin- 
cere profession  of  heavenly  truth,  challenging  to  itself  alone  the  name  of  the  Church, 
and  fastening  upon  all  that  dissent,  or  are  otherwise  minded,  the  hateful  note  of 
•chism  or  heresy,)  hath  made  me  ever  think,  that  there  is  no  part  of  heavenly  knowl- 
edge more  necessary,  than  that  which  concerneth  the  Church —Field's  treatise  on  the 
Church.     Epistle  Dedicatory. 

In  the  mean  time,  every  (not  ungracious)  son  of  this  Spiritual  Mother  w'll  learn 
to  kiss  the  footsteps  of  the  Universal  Church  of  Christ ;  ns  knowing  the  dear  and  in- 
fallible respect  betwixt  him  and  this  blessed  spouse  of  his,  as  to  whom  he  hath 
engaged  his  everlasting  presence  and  assistance ;  Behold  I  am  with  you  always  to  the 
end  of  the  world :  and  will  resolve  to  spit  in  the  face  of  those  seducers,  who  go  about 
to  alienate  his  affections  from  her,  and  to  draw  him  into  causeless  suspicions  of  lier 
chaste  fidelity  to  her  Lord  and  Saviour. — Bp.  Hall's  Works,  X.  176. 


TRINITY  COLLEGE,  NoveiLb  r  17,  ISW. 

TO  'rillC  KEV.  T.   Vf.  COIT,  D.  I>., 

Dear  Sir, — We,  the  nii(lpr.sigiiPil,nieiiibors  of  the  Tln^ological  Depart- 
ment of  Trinity  ColliJgc,  gratefully  appreciiiting  your  kindness  indelivoring  to  iih  your 
impressive  and  convincing  Sermon,  on  llie  Mppeal  to  the  Primitive  Church,  and  desi- 
ring that  the  principles  set  forth  in  it  should  he  more  widely  disseminated,  nolieit  a 
copy  for  the  press. 

We  are,  dear  Sir, 

Yours,  most  respectfully, 

A.  F.  Gould,  John  Brninnrd, 

Francis  T.  Russell,  Hiram  Stone, 

A.  B.  Gooiirieh,  John  N    Marvin, 

K.  H.  Rush'ioll,  Nicholas  J   Seelcy, 

Wm.  II.  Douglass,  Rufus  Adams, 

Johnston  McCormac,  S.  Farmar  Jarvis, 

Wm.  I'.  Hostwick,  Wm.  II.  Williams, 

•lames  W.  Robins,  E  Seymour, 

John  C.  Du  Bois,  Wra.  H.  Munroe. 
J.  I?.  Lynn, 


TRINITY  COLLEGE,  November  29,  1852. 

TO  MKriSRS.  GOULD,  RUSSKLL,  GOODRICH,   AND  OTHERS, 

Gkntlkmkn, — A  pressure  of  duty  constrained  me  to  deliver  a  Sermon 
before  you,  composed  long  since,  atid  never  intended  for  the  press.  Its  subject,  how- 
ever, seems  to  have  awakened  an  interest  in  others  than  yourselves,  and  I  therefiire 
comply  with  your  request. 

I  have  added  some  notes,  necessary  to  fortify  it.s  positions  ;  and  which  may  render 
it  more  serviceable  to  you  as  a  tract  for  reference. 
With  the  kindest  rcjjard. 

Your  friend  and  servant, 

T.  W.  COIT. 


SERMON. 


John,  ix.  22. — For  tho  Jews  had  agreed  already,  that  if  any  man  did  cunfesa  ihu  i 
he  was  Christ,  hoHhuuid  be  put  out  of  the  Synagogue. 

JI  KiNUs,  V.  11.  — Hehoid,    I  tliought,  he  will  surely  come  out  to  me. 

Acts,  xxvi.  'J. — 1  verily  thought  with  myself,  ihnt  I  ought  to  do  muny  things  con- 
trary to  tho  Nante  of  Jchus  of  Nazareth. 

Acts,  ix,  6.     l^rd,  what  wilt  thou  have  me  to  do  ? 

Tins  putting  together  of  passages  from  different  parts  oi' 
the  Bible,  in  order  to  form  07ie  text,  may  seem  singular  and 
unauthorized  ;  but  ought  hardly  to  do  so,  in  view  of  the  fai-t 
that  the  author  and  subject  of  the  Bible  arc  one  also. 
And  still  less  should  it  seem  improper,  in  the  present  case  ; 
since  all  four  of  the  passages  selected  bear  directly  upon 
my  subject,  which  is  to  show,  how  differently  we  judge  of 
Divine  requirements,  when  influenced  by  our  own  spirits, 
and  when  influenced  by  the  Spirit  of  God.  And  I  cannot 
but  think  such  a  subject  eminently  deserving  our  soberest 
meditations  at  the  present  day.  For  never,  brethren,  as  it 
appears  to  me,  has  there  been  a  time  since  man  was  made, 
when  he  was  more  disposed  to  put  his  own  "I  thought" 
Ijefore  any  testimony  to  the  contrary,  presented  by  earth  or 
heaven,  or  by  both  together.  This  is  indeed  an  age,  not  of 
reason,  but  of  individual  reasons ;  in  which  every  man's 
own  mind  is  his  highest  source  of  infornuition  and  guidance. 
and  when,  in  all  matters  of  opinion,  man's  highest  delight 
has  grown  to  be,  the  doing  of  that,  and  that  only,  which 
is  right  in  his  own  eyes.  Talk  to  the  world  now  of  autlior- 
ity  in  matters  of  religion,  and  you  are  suspected  at  once  of 
talking  Popery  ;  of  a  disposition  to  steal  from  the  unwary 


the  blessed  riglit  of  private  judgment,  and  to  entrap  tliem 
in  the  toils  of  a  second  Inquisition. 

And  is  it,  then,  that  tlicre  is  no  snch  thing  as  authority  in 
matters  of  religion  ?  That  there  are  no  laws  of  reverence  and 
submission,  which  we  are  obligated  to  respect  and  obey  ?  that 
nothing  is  to  be  taken  upon  trust,  but  demonstration 
must  be  had  for  every  thing;  and  that,  too,  a  demonstra- 
tion which  puits  exactly  our  own  "I  thought?"  If  this  be 
the  ground,  which,  in  our  protestation  against  Eomish  and 
inquisitorial  tyranny,  we  arc  called  upon  and  expected  to 
take,  it  behoves  us  well  to  know  it  understandingly.  Tliat 
Kome,  that  many  Protestants  do  suppose  this  to  be  the 
ground,  which  all  Protestants  are  bound  to  take,  I  am 
constrained  to  fear  is  but  too  true;  for  some,  for  many, 
appear  to  think,  that  Protestantism  is,  in  all  respects,  the 
dii-ect  opposite  of  Popery ;  and  that  the  only  way  in  which 
we  can  be  true  Christians,  is  to  believe  and  to  do,  in  all 
j»articulars,  tlie  absolute  contrary  of  what  is  believed  and 
«lone  by  Papists. 

Now  if  tliis  be  right,  in  reference  to  authority  in  matters 
of  religion,  because  the  Church  of  Pome  asserts  and 
maintains  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  such  authority,  then 
I  have  simjjly  to  observe,  that  the  T3eists  are,  in  this  article 
at  least,  tlu^  most  correct  of  all  opponents  of  Popery  ;  for 
no  writers  of  modern  times  avow  so  stiffly,  as  they  do,  the 
unlimited  rights  of  reason  and  of  private  judgment,  or  have 
advocated  those  rights  so  vehemently.  If  to  disbelieve  all 
authority  in  matters  of  religion,  to  argue  against  it  strenu- 
ously, and  even  to  sneer  at  it  as  a  dogma  of  Romanism — 
if  this  be  to  become  a  true  and  deserving  Protestant,  then, 
of  all  others,  do  the  Deists  most  merit  that  high  and  hon- 
ored name. 

Do  we  slirink  from  such  a  conclusion,  which  I  have 
purposely  followed  out,  to  show  you  where  they  must  end, 
who  account  the  opposite  of  Popery  the  only  truth?  then 
what   remains,    but   that  we  take    our   stand    somewhere 


between  the  extreme  of  Ivomanisin,  wliicli  enslaves  the 
judgment,  and  hititndinurianisni,  heresy  and  Deitini,  whieh 
set  it  free  from  every  thiii<^  but  the  counsel  of  its  own  will  ? 
Ijuttiiis  is  precisely  the  stand  taken  by  our  own  Church  ;  of 
which  you  could  not  have  a  more  thorough  proof,  than  the 
fact,  that,  from  the  days  of  the  Jleforniation,  Papists  have 
called  us  schismatics  and  heretics,  while  schismatics  and 
heretics  have  called  us  Papists.  Of  course,  we  are  exactly 
between  the  two — as  far  i-emoved  from  the  one  extreme,  as 
from  the  other.  And,  as  a  general  rule,  if  you  wisli  to 
know^  what  the  true  doctrine  of  your  church  in  any  given  in- 
stance is,  you  cannot  have  a  better  than  this : — Strike  the  mid- 
dle ground  between  Papists,  who  have  abandoned  the  Cath- 
olic Faith  on  one  side,  and  schismatics,  and  heretics  who 
have  abandoned  it  on  the  other;  and  there  you  will  find  the 
object  of  your  search.* 

But  to  come  now  to  our  more  immediate  topic,  the 
subject  of  authority  in  matters  of  religion, — "What  is  the 
stand  taken  upon  this  subject  by  the  Church  of  Eome, 
and  by  those  at  the  farthest  remove  from  her  ;  and  how  is 
the  stand  taken  by  our  own  Church,  between  the  two,  to 
be  illustrated  by  the  passages  of  Scripture  arranged  to  form 
».  text  ? 

The  Church  of  Eome  teaches,  that  what  the  Pope,  who 
is  its  representative  and  head,  shall  now  declare  ex  cathedra 
to  be  a  matter  of  faith,  must  be  believed  on  peril  of  the 
soul's  salvation.  There  is  no  a})peal  from  such  decree,  no 
refuoe  from  its  obligation — none  whatever.  So  that  one  of 
the  ablest  of  llomish  writers,  to  put  this  subject  in  the 
strongest  light  possible,  <loes  nc»t  hesitate  to  say,  that  if  the 
supreme  authority  of  the  Church  of  Pome  were  to  decree 
virtues  to  be  vices,  and  vices  to  be  virtues,  there  is  no 
help  for  us ;  we  must  submit  implicitly.f 

Those  who,  to  avoid  this  numifest  and  inexorable  despo^ 

•  See  Note  A.  +See  .Note  B. 


s8 

tism,  fly  to  the  opposite  extreme,  tell  us  that  in  interpreting 
Scripture  every  man  is  a  law  unto  himself;  that  what  every 
man  believes  to  be  Scripture,  is  Scripture  to  his  mind  ;  and 
that  consequently  all  we  can  do  is,  to  put  the  Bible  in  his 
hands,  and  exhort  him  to  read  it  for  himself,  responsible 
to  God  alone  for  the  sense  which  he  attaches  to  it.* 

Is  there,  then,  no  medium  between  unlimited  spiritual 
tyranny,  and  the  unlimited  rovings  of  private  judgment? 
Our  Church,  brethren,  and  her  soundest  Divines,  have 
always  taught  that  there  is.  We  find,  in  the  Prayer  Book, 
''  ancient  authors"  as  well  as  Holy  Scripture  appealed  to, 
for  the  settlement  of  doubtful  and  disputed  points.  In  the 
Articles,  we  are  referred  to  "  the  custom  of  the  Primitive 
Church,"  as  a  means  of  throwing  light  on  matters,  which 
Scripture,  according  to  modern  disputants,  determines  very 
different  ways.  And  in  the  Homilies,  we  are  again  and 
asrain  reminded,  that  the  Primitive  Church  was  "most 
uncorrupt  and  pure";  that,  in  the  times  of  that  Church, 
''  Christian  religion  was  most  pure,  and  indeed  golden"  ;t 
and  that,  therefore,  to  follow  the  example  of  the  Primitive 
Church,  is  the  surest  possible  way  to  bring  owr  religion  to 
the  pattern  of  actually  apostolic  times. 

And,  unquestionably,  on  all  points  ot  prominence  and 
general  interest,  this  is  the  surest  way  of  proceeding,  and 
would  sooner  bring  mankind  to  a  substantial  unity  of  faith 
and  practice,  than  any  other  which  human  ingenuity  ha? 
devised.  I  doubt,  indeed,  whether  the  testimony  of  pure 
Christian  Antiquity  covers  as  much  ground,  as  some  have 
fondly  imagined.  That  Antiquity  will  not  tell  us  how 
every  disputed  text  of  the  Bible  is  to  be  translated.:}:  But 
it  will  tell  us,  very  plainly  and  very  explicitly,  facts  in 
respect  to  cardinal  doctrines  and  rites  ;  which  is  all  that  we 
want  to  establish  substantial  unity.     Diversities,  in  respect 

•See  Note  C  tSee  particularly  the  Homily  against  Peril  of  Idolatry. 

\  See  Note  D. 


9 

to  lesser  subjectft,  prevailed  even  in  apostolic  times ;  and 
will  prevail,  wliilc  human  nature  is  as  impertect  as  it  must 
ever  be  in  a  fallen  state.  Take,  however,  any  prominent 
point,  in  doctrine,  disci{)line,  or  worship — any  such  point 
as  can  be  settled  by  the  testimony  of  widely  accepted  facts 
— and  pure  Christian  Antiquity  is  promj)!  and  decisive  in 
its  answer. 

Would  you  know,  for  example,  whether  the  Primitive 
Church  believed  in  the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity  ?  Tlie  Nicene 
Creed,  which  was  the  testimony*  of  all  Christendom,  as 
to  what  had  ever  been  believed  respecting  the  Godhead,  is 
an  answer  which  heretics  cannot  quibble  away,  as  they  do 
texts  of  Scrij)ture.  The  very  ringleader  of  ancient  Unita- 
rians tried,  in  every  possible  manner,  to  evade  that  Creed's 
expressions,  and  was  forced  to  abandon  the  enterprise  as 
desperate.f — Would  you  know  whether  the  Primitive  Church 
had  such  an  officer,  as  we  now  call  bishop  ?  Lists  of  such 
officers,  traced  up  to  the  Apostles'  days,  can  be  produced 
with  ease4 — ^Would  you  know  whether  Primitive  Christians 
worshipped  with  a  form?  Their  actual  liturgies  can  be  laid 
before  you.  You  have  a  perennial  specimen,  in  that  most 
comprehensive  and  appropriate  collect,  at  the  close  of 
morning  and  evening  prayer,  called  "  A  prayer  of  St. 
Chrysostom." — Woidd  you  know  whether  they  had  an 
order  of  men  called  clergy ;  and  employed  sacraments,  as 
outward  and  visible  signs  of  inward  and  spiritual  grace  'i 
You  cannot  stir  one  step,  in  the  history  of  the  Pi'iuiitive 
Church,  without  encountering  such  things. 

Thus  easily  could  great  principles,  now  daily  and  sharply 
disputed,  by  different  Christian  sects,  each  and  all  appeal- 
ing, with  the  same  confidence  to  the  Bible,  and  appealing, 

*The  testimony,  noUhe  decree.  Hence  it«  amazing  value,  aa  an  attestation  of 
the  Catholic  faith  "  through  the  ages  all  along." 

t  This  was  in  A.  D-  325.  So  in  A.  D.  383,  the  Macedonians  who  denied  the 
Divinity  of  the  Holy  (Ihost,  gave  way  before  "  the  common  suffrage  of  the  ait- 
cientsy—Waterl'ind's  W'ks.  Hi.  659. 

\  See  Note  E. 


10 

as  fact  shows,  entirely  in  vain,  (since  they  differ  still  as 
mnch  as  ever,) — thus  easily,  I  say,  covild  great  principles  be 
settled,  which  would  produce  substantial  unity,  among  all 
who  profess  and  call  themselves  Christians. 

But  even  the  Papist,  fond,  as  many  suppose  him,  of 
relying  for  the  maintenance  of  his  cause  upon  the  old 
Fathers,  rejects  their  testimony,  when  it  pleases  him  not. 
They  talk  of  bishops,  but  not  of  a  pope ;  and  therefore  in 
his  view,  the  present  church  is  both  truer  and  wiser.  The 
advocate  of  ministerial  parity  rejects  them,  because,  silent 
if  they  be  respecting  a  pope,  they  speak  too  familiarly 
and  frequently  of  bishops,  to  be  accounted  any  thing  but 
Episcopalians.  The  Socinian  rejects  them  for  their  Nicene 
Creed ;  the  Anabaptist  for  their  infant  baptisms ;  the 
Quaker  for  their  outward  sacraments  and  standing  minis- 
try ;  and  Protestants,  of  many  names  and  classes,  because 
of  their  habitual  employment  of  forms  of  prayer. 

And,  yet,  all  of  them,  from  the  Papist  down  to  the 
Socinian,  appeal  to  this  same  Antiquity,  to  settle  one  of 
the  most  fundamental  of  all  possible  positions,  the  Canon 
of  Christian  Scripture  itself  The  New  Testament  was  not 
all  written,  for  more  than  sixty  years  after  the  Ascension 
of  Christ.  There  was  a  multitude  of  writings,  scattered 
over  Christendom,  claiming  to  be  Epistles  and  Gospels; 
foi-  St.  Paul  warns  the  Thessalonians  against  forged  Epis- 
tles, written  to  inculcate  the  opinion  that  the  end  of  the 
world  was  nigh  ;*  and  St.  Luke,  in  the  preface  to  his 
Gospel,  alludes  to  "many"  who  had  taken  in  hand  the 
Kubject  of  our  Saviour's  life,  and  executed  their  task  like 
bunglers ;  because  they  had  not  written  "  in  order,"  nor 
had  "perfect  understanding  of  all  tilings  from  the  very  first." 

But  amid  this  mass  of  Epistles  and  Gospels,  (many  of 
which  were  famous  enough  to  be  preserved  and  to  come 
down  to  our  own  times,)  who  should  determine  what  was 
truly  inspired  and  apostolic,    and  therefore  genuine  Scrip- 

♦II  Theas.    ii.  1,  2. 


11 

ture '?  Who  should  settle  the  delicate  and  perplexing 
question,  Mhethcr  tlie  Epistle  of  Ijanuibas,  an  actual 
apostle,  should  be  thrown  out  of  the  Sacred  Cane  n  while 
productions  of  Mark  and  Luke,  neither  of  them  of  apos- 
tolic rank,  should  be  inserted  into  it?  Tlic  Primitive 
Church  decided  these  fii^st  and  foremost  of  theolofrical 
questions ;  and  has  given  us  our  ])resent  New  Testament.* 
Now^,  knowing  this,  our  own  Church  has,  not  unwieely 
or  strangely  as  some  think,  but  most  judiciously  deter- 
mined, that  the  Primitive  Church,  which  settled  the 
great  fundamental  question,  '\Vhat  is  the  Kcw  Testa- 
ment,' is  equally  competent  to  testify  to  the  next  great 
fundamental  question,  '  AVhat  was  the  New  Testament,  in 
apostolic  times,  believed  to  teach'?  Therefore,  as  in  her 
Homily,  on  the  peril  of  idolatry,  she  commends  the 
Primitive  Church  as  a  standard,  "  which  is  specially  to  be  fol- 
lowed as  most  incorrupt  and  pure";  and  is  willing  to  take  its 
testimony  at  large,  on  all  chief  points  of  doctrine,  discii)line, 
and  worship.  And  she  is  tlie  only  Christian  communion 
which  treats  Christian  Antiquity  consistently.  For,  while 
ehe  is  ready  to  go  to  such  Anticpiity  for  any  thing,  which 
the  Biljle  (as  sects  and  disputes  show)  cannot  settle  clearly, 
all  others,  from  the  Romanist  down  to  the  Socinian,  reject 
the  Fathers  for  one  reason  or  for  another  ;  and  yet,  without 
those  Fathers,  they  cannot  determine  which  is  the  true 
Scripture  and  which  is  false  ! 

Such,  brethren,  is  our  Church's  view  of  the  necessity  of 
oomething  besides  private  judgment,  or  a  stern  aiuUhema, 
to  settle  disputed  questions  in  religion,  and  such  is  the 
standard  to  which  she  cheerfully  and  confidently  appeals. 
And  this  mode  of  reference  was  any  thing  but  new  and 
strange,  in  those  trying  times,  when  our  ecclesiastical  foie- 

*  In  respect  to  this  question,  says  the  Presbyterian,  Dr.  Spring,  "  Our  appeal  is  to 
the  earlioM  eci-Icsiasticiil  historians  ;  and  we  find  a  perfect  agreement  among  ihem  " 
—Rule  of  Failh.  1844.  p.  2S  — They  agree  as  perfectly  about  Kpi«copacy.  Will 
the  learned  doctor  listen  to  them  on  that  point  ? 


12 

fathers,  attacked  on  all  sides,  had  to  defend  themselves 
against  their  thronging  foes,  "  by  the  armor  of  righteous- 
ness on  the  right  hand  and  on  the  left."  Then,  it  was  well 
known  to  the  Laity,  as  well  as  to  the  Clergy  ;  as  an  extract 
from  even  a  poem  will  show.  Says  Dryden,  in  his  Religio 
Laici,  or  Layman's  Faith, 

III  doubtful  questions,  'tis  the  safest  way 

To   learn  what  unsuspected  ancients  say ; 

For  'tis  not  likely  we  should  higher  soar 

In  search  of  Heaven,  than  all  the  Church  before  ; 

Nor  can  we  be  deceived,  unless  we  see 

The  Scripture  and  the  Fathers  disagree. 

Not,  however,  "  as  we  be  slanderously  reported,  and  as 
some  affirm  that  we  say" — not  that  our  Church  puts  the 
testimony  of  Christian  Antiquity  ahove  Scripture,  or  on  a 
par  with  Scripture.  That  Romanism  or  Rationalism  alike 
may  do  ;  but  we  say,  '  God  forbid  it.'  "With  us,  Christian 
Antiquity  is  "  a  witness,  not  at  all  competing  with  Scrip- 
ture, never  to  be  balanced  against  it  ;  but  competing  with 
our  less  able,  and  less  pure,  apprehension  of  Scripture."* 
But  unless  we  submit  to  the  Pope,  and  take  what  he  says 
as  infallible  ;  or  erect  every  man's  judgment  into  a  pope, 
and  make  it  infallible  for  him  /  there  must  be  some  umpire 
in  disputed  cases.  Well,  if  so,  what  shall  that  imipire  be'i? 
It  is  useless  to  say  that  the  Bible  shall  be  such  an  umpire, 
for  tlie  meaning  of  the  Bible  is  the  very  matter  in  dispute  f 
and  with  the  Bible  only  for  an  arbiter,  sects  would  and 
could  come  no  nearer  unity  than  they  do  now.  If  I  may 
again  quote  Dryden,  (of  whom  it  was  said,  that  he  rea- 
soned better  and  more  closely  in  poetry  than  in  prose,) 

We  hold,  and  say  we  prove  from  Scripture  plain, 
Thai  Christ  is  God  ;  the  bold  Socinian 
From  the  same  Scripture  urges  he's  but  man. 
Now  what  appeal  can  end  th'  important  suit? 
Both  parts  talk.  loudly,  but  the  rule  is  mute, 

•Taylor's  Primitive  worship,  p.  4. 


13 

We  must  give  up  these  oj)mwns  about  the  Bible,  and  come 
X.0  facts  of  liiHtory^  for  its  just  interpretation.  "We  must 
ask,  How  did  those  believe,  and  those  act,  who  were  near- 
est the  Apostles'  days  ;  who  received  at  their  hands  the 
Church,  the  Ministry,  and  the  Catholic  Faith,  and  were 
most  likely  to  have  and  to  exemplify  the  Bible's  true  con- 
struction? The  facts  which  rise  up  to  answer  such  a 
question,  you  have  seen  ,  (a  specimen  at  least  of  them ;) 
and  you  have  further  seen,  how  easily,  and  quickly  they 
can  determine  questions,  now  most  vehemently  disputed. 
Be  it  that  such  an  appeal  would  fail  in  some  cases  ;  since 
there  ever  were,  and  ever  will  bo,  those  who  "  though 
vanquished  can  argue  still."  It  would  not  fail  in  multi- 
tudes ;  and  it  would  save  us  from  many  of  those  lawlesa 
speculations  of  ignorance,  self-conceit,  and  heresy,  which 
are  every  whit  as  arbitrary  and  magisterial  as  decrees  from 
the  Roman  Vatican.  Be  it  that  such  an  appeal  is  not  per- 
fection, or  inspiration.  AVhere  I  ask,  with  all  assurance, 
since  the  Bible  will  not  harmonize  us — where  can  conmion 
sense  or  "  science"  Txot  ^''  falsely  so  called,"  or  enlightened 
piety,  point  out  to  us  a  better  \  It  is  but  the  principle  of 
settling  doubtful  constructions  by  the  most  authoritative,, 
and  least  suspicious  precedents.  But  that  is  a  principle,  of" 
confessed  and  universal  obligation,  in  all  courts  of  Law 
and  Justice  \^  and  in  such  courts,  if  any  where  on  earth, 
is  pure  reason  supposed  to  hold  sovereign  and  undisputed 
sway. 

It  is  time,  however,  some  of  yon  will  doubtless  think, 
to  draw  a  little  nearer  to  my  compound  text,  and  show 
how  it  illustrates  the  topic  on  which  I  have  been  insisting, 
the  necessity  of  some  standard  of  appeal  in  disputed  mattera 
of  religion,  and  the  manner  in  which  our  own  Church  has 


•  Contemporanea  arpo.«jtio  est  optimn  tt/orlissinta  inlegt^  u  a  very  taaxiiunmong  jur.. 
isrs. — Broom's   Legal  Maxims.    2d  e<l.  p.  33"4. 


14 

recognized  such  necessity,   and  provided  for  its  exigencies. 

Tliat  text,  in  its  various  portions,  bears  chiefly  upon  the 
mischiefs  attending  an  avMtranj  method  of  settling  dispu- 
ted or  doubtful  ])oints,  (whether  by  the  decrees  of  the 
Church,"^  or  the  decrees  of  our  own  minds  ;)  and  commends 
to  us,  in  the  example  of  one  who  was  beginning  the  life  of 
a  disciple,  the  profound  and  ])ractical  submissiveness  of 
humble  and  earnest  piety. 

The  })assage  depicting  the  conduct  of  the  Jews,  when 
one  of  their  number  acknowlcds-ed  Jesus  for  the  Messiah, 
shows  how  mischievous  ecclesiastical  decrees  may  become. 
when  founded  upon  nothing  but  present  and  dominant 
impressions.  In  the  decree  of  the  Synagogue,  wdiich  was 
a  decree  of  excommunication,  you  have  an  exact  counter- 
})art  of  the  policy  and  conduct  of  the  Church  of  Rome. 
That  policy  is  to  admit  no  standard  of  appeal,  but  the 
Church  of  Rome's  decrees,  and  to  denounce  as  heretics, 
all  who  dissent  from  such  a  violent  and  selfish  determina- 
tion ;  or  dare  even  to  doubt  its  righteousness.f  Sometimes 
all  which  can  thus  be  done  is  simply  to  denounce  ;  but 
where  the  Inquisition  can  prevail,  the  process  can  be  pur- 
sued to  shapes  oi  torture  and  death,  which  fiends  might 
gloat  upon. 

But  the  direful  arm  of  the  In<|uisition  was  w^ielded,  long 
before  the  name  arose,  and  the  thing  was  founded  in  form 
in  modern  Spaiw.  The  decree,  the  excommunication,  and 
the  anathema,  of  the  Synagogue  of  Jerusalem,  were  as 
truly  inquisitorial,  as  any  thing  ever  sanctioned  by  the  bulla 
<)f  the  Papal  See,  or  the  fiats  of  papal  thrones.  They  are 
the  natural  mischiefs  attending  the  erection  of  a  church, 
into  a  tribunal,  presuming  to  speak  the  voice  of  God,  with 
the  majesty  and  with  the  force  of  law.  Persecution  will 
.ever  be  the  iesue.     The  blood  of  the  oppressed,  will  sooner  or 

•1  mean  decrees  in  the  proper  sense.    Not  creefls  ;  for  I  beg  again  to  say,  the  point 
lu-80  coDKtaritly  miiianUerstood,  thoolil  creeds  are  not  decrees   they  are  teslimony. 

{See  Note  F. 


16 

later,  cry  unto  Iliiii,  who  luis  most  solemnly  and  mo^t 
80vereii>;nly  declared,  that  vent^cance  is  iiis  sole  prerogative 
— that  He,  and  Jle  only,  may  repay.* 

We  may  think,  however,  that  it  is  perfectly  safe  to  take 
from  the  Cliurch  the  power  to  decree,  and  to  enforce  de- 
crees by  temporal  pimisiimcnts,  and  refer  the  whole  suhject 
to  private  judgment.  IJut,  as  another  part  of  my  text 
teaches,  we  do  no  better.  Endow  private  judgment  with 
arbitrary  power — let  it  nuike  its  own  decisions  the  rule  of 
right — and  private  judgment  is  just  as  persecuting  as  the 
Pope,  with  his  crook  and  sword.  Look  at  Saul  of  Tarsus, 
determining  by  his  private  judgment,  whether  all  Christian- 
ity were  not  treason,  or  an  (»ld  wives'  fable.  "  I  verily 
thought  with  myself,  I  ought  to  do  many  things  contrary  to 
the  name  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth."  And  what  was  the  direct 
consequence  of  this  arbitrary  thinking  with  himself?  To 
seek  authority  for  persecuting  ;  which,  once  obtained,  many 
of  the  saints  did  he  shut  up  in  prison  ;  many  did  he  punish 
in  every  synagogue  ;  many  did  he  compel  to  blaspheme  ; 
many  did  he  drive  before  the  goads  of  cruelty,  to  strange 
and  distant  cities;  while  those  who  perished,  w-ere,  by  his 
voice,  sentenced  to  the  hori-ors  of  a  malefactor's  death. 

So,  then,  private  judgment  can  persecute,  as  well  as 
Popery,  and  with  as  unrelenting  vehemence ;  as  instance* 
in  modern  times,  but  hardly  to  be  named  with  prudence, 
might  abundantly  demonstrate. f  And  if  private  judgment 
do  not,  from  the  nature  of  civil  institutions,  or  the  tenden- 
cies of  an  age,  (things  which  are  clogs  on  Popery,  too,)  have 
as  much  swinix  as  it  could  desire  for  a  bloody  hand,  it  will 
none  the  less  indulge  a  furious  temper.  Paul  said,  that  he 
persecuted  some  from  home  ;  probably  because  he  could 
not  persecute  them  unto  death  ;  and  against  these,  he  says, 
he  was  "  exceeding    nuid."      And  where,  brethren,    pain- 

•Wemay  rejerl  a  man  for  heresy  ;  hut  we  cnnnot  50  on,  and  heap   retrihulion  on 
him,  after  u  Jewish  or  Romish  fashion.    Titu-.  iii.   10. 

tSec  Note  G. 


.16 

ful  as  the  reference  is,  where  will  you  find  more  of  this 
excuseless  wrath,  than  among  sects,  whose  fundamental 
rule  is,  that  each  man's  decision  is  infallible  for  his  own 
self,  and  that  to  talk  of  any  standard  of  appeal  in  doubtful 
matters,  but  the  light  within,  is  to  talk  like  the  servile 
adherents  of  the  popedom  ? 

From  all  which,  it  is  clear,  that  let  the  Church  decree, 
or  let  the  individual  mind  decree,  the  issue  is  substantially 
the  same  ;  and  the  best  cure  we  know  of  for  this  serious  and 
ominous  predicament,  we  believe  to  be,  an  appeal  to  a 
mass  of  facts,  which  are  alike  removed  from  the  present 
Church,  and  from  present  minds — facts  far  away  in  the 
past,  where  prejudice  and  misconstruction  cannot  so  easily 
reach  and  mould  them.  But  alas  !  when  we  lisp  of  defer- 
ence to  the  old  Councils,  Creeds,  and  Fathers,  we  are 
Btieered  or  scoffed  at,  as  depreciating  the  Bible  upon  the 
one  hand,  and  offering  fellowship  to  Rome  upon  the  other. 

Thus,  we  see,  how  to  reject  such  a  standard  of  appeal 
for  authority  to  settle  doubtful  cases,  as  our  Church  com- 
mends to  us,  results  in  the  indulgence  of  a  persecuting 
temper.  And  this  illustrates  one  class  of  the  mischiefs, 
attending  such  rejection.  There  is  another  class,  also, 
upon  which  portions  of  our  text  bear ;  to  this  would  I  now 
direct  you. 

Suppose  the  restored  blind  man  to  have  been  intimidated 
by  the  anathema  and  excommunication  of  the  Synagogue, 
and  to  have  disavowed  his  faith  in  the  Restorer  of  his  body 
and  the  Saviour  of  his  soul.  The  unity  of  the  Synagogue 
would  not  have  been  broken.  But  what  sort  of  unity 
would  have  prevailed  there  ?  a  unity  of  appearance  solely  : 
the  same  which  existed  in  the  person  of  Galileo,  when  he 
was  denounced  as  a  heretic  for  affirming  the  revolution  of 
the  earth  around  the  sun.*  Galileo,  through  fear  of  impris- 
onment and  death,  admitted  his  constructive  error;  and  then 

»  See  Note  H. 


17 

observed  in  an  unrlcrtonc  to  a  bvHtander,  that  notwltlistand- 
iiif)^  all  he  had  said  or  done,  the  earth  still  pursued  her 
lejj^itirnate  course  in  the  solar  system.  Force  cannot  produce 
j2;enuine  unity,  and  it  never  will;  and  under  the  so  much 
boasted  unity  of  the  Church  of  Itonie,  lie,  who  sees  the 
heart,  may  perceive  far  inore  sad  and  numerous  diversities, 
than  disfigure  the  whole  Protestant  world.  Force  maj 
make  cowards  and  hypocrites  ;  it  can  never  make  true 
believers.  And  he  who  succumbs  to  all  the  <loirmas  of 
Rome,  because  of  her  threats  or  thunders,  wt)uld  lose 
heaven  twice  over;  though  it  were  as  true,  as  Home  dicta- 
torially  assures  us  it  is,  that  upon  the  belief  of  her  dogmas 
depends  our  everlasting  salvation. 

And  now,  on  the  other  hand,  suppose  the  blin<l  man  to 
have  indulged  the  querulous  disposition  of  Naaman,  who, 
when  told  told  to  wash  in  Jordan  for  the  cure  of  his  leprosy, 
drew  himself  up  in  the  full  grandeur  of  self-sufliciency,  and 
resolved  to  follow  the  dictates  of  his  private  judgment, 
rather  than  the  mandate  of  the  prophet.  "  Behold,''  said 
the  haughty  captain-  general  of  Syria,  "  I  thought  he  will 
surely  come  out  to  me."  But  he  did  not  ;  and  that  self- 
willed  "  I  thought"  had  nearly  left  llis  Mightiness  a  leper 
still.  If  the  blind  man  had  listened  to  the  promptings  of 
the  same  deceiver,  he  might  have  gone  down  to  his  gloomy 
grave,  and  never  been  greeted  by  "  holy  light,  offspring  of 
Heaven,  first  born." 

And  thie  sort  of  private  judgment  it  is,  which  inflictfi 
upon  us  all  the  wildness  and  extravagance  of  the  almost 
countless  sects,  which  presume  to  appropriate  the  name  of 
(christian.  Lonij  since  did  Lord  Boliiiiijbroke  sav,  that 
one  "cause  of  the  multi})lication  of  extravagant  opinions 
and  sects  in  Christianity,  has  been  the  arbitrary  practice, 
of  giving  different  senses  to  the  same  passages  of  the  Bi- 
ble."* And,  yet,  as  an  infidel,  he  cared  not  wjjicli  way 
his  remark    might     cut ;    and     was    as  indifferent   to    it« 

•Wku.  iii.  464.  Philad.  1841. 
o 


18 

bearing  upon  one  sect  as  upon  another.  And  ■ym  do  not  see 
tor  ourselves,  that  he  has  not  missed  the  mark,  in  his  state- 
ment, be  the  motive  which  brought  it  out  whatsoever  it 
might  ?  Can  we  fail  to  perceive,  that  sects  are  inevitable, 
«o  long  as  the  Bible  is  the  sole  standard  of  appeal,  and  the 
same  passage  is  interpreted  twenty  different  ways ;  while 
private  judgment  is  tlie  only  guide,  and  its  decisions  are 
infallible  for  every  mind  ?  Is  not  one  man's  "  I  thought," 
as  good  as  any  other  man's  ?  and  if  so,  is  not  one  man's 
•*  I  thought"  about  the  Bible,  as  good  as  that  of  any  of 
his  fellows ;  and  again  if  so,  is  not  the  wildest  sectarian 
under  Heaven  in  the  right? 

But  what,  then,  the  captious  will  exclaim,  must  we  sell 
the  birthright  of  our  soul's  freedom,  and  go  and  bow  down 
to  the  image  of  unity,  which  ecclesiastical  pride  and  usur- 
pation has  set  up  in  the  Vatican  at  Rome?  We  ask  no  such 
unqualified  surrender  of  your  reason,  and  power  of  judg- 
ing aright,  and  for  yourselves.  There  is  a  medium ;  (oh 
that  it  were  not  such  an  invisible  and  inconceivable  para- 
dox to  thousands !)  there  is  a  medium,  and  a  most  blessed 
one,  between  the  extravagancies  of  Rome  upon  the  one 
hand,  and  the  extravagancies  of  schism  and  heresy  upon  the 
other.  We  ask  you  not  to  surrender  your  reason,  to  be 
bound  with  links  of  iron  ;  and  we  beg  you  not  to  let  it  run 
rampant,  like  the  untamed  wild  ass,  which  will  not  be  held 
by  bit  or  bridle.  Exercise  it  no  longer  upon  conjectures, 
but  upon  facts;  no  longer  upon  opinions,  but  upon  history. 
Go  to  the  Clmrch,  as  she  was  in  the  days  of  her  virgin  puri- 
ty, before  she  was  wedded  to  tlie  state,  and  began  to  do,  as 
the  married  do,  the  will  of  an  imperious  husband.  There 
is  a  period  of  three  centuries  for  you  to  inquire  into  ;  and 
what  the  Church  then  was,  ba])tised  in  the  blood  of  mar- 
tvrdom,  and  refined  by  the  fires  of  persecution,  you  may 
rtafely,  most  safely,  be.  Cast  in  your  lot  with  her,  as  she 
then  was  ;  for  then,  most  assuredly,  her  Lord  was  with 
her;  then  she  was  tlie  brightness    of  everlasting  light,  the 


19 

uns2)otte(l  mirror  of  tlic  power  of  God,  and  the  image  of 
his  goodness.*  The;  ignoriint  will  try  to  frigliten  you,  by 
telling  you  that  this  will  lead  you  into  the  mazes  of  Pope- 
ry, and  that  you  will  lose  your  indejtendence,  if  not  your 
Boul.  But  it  is  a  grand  mistake  to  suppose  that  Popery  ex- 
isted, during  the  first  three  centuries,  when  the  (Church  stood 
alone,  mitrammeled,  and  nneorrnpted  ;  when,  as  one  of 
her  oldest  historians  informs  us,  there  was  an  inseparable 
communion  between  the  AVestern  and  Eastern  (yhurehes  ; 
i.e.  throughout  Christeudom.f  Popery  was  the  growth  of 
the  middle  ages ;  of  periods  when  this  communion  began 
to  be  broken,  or  sundered.  It  attained  its  fullest  develo|>- 
ment,  in  periods  when  this  communion  was  most  effectually 
interrupted.  It  grew  fastest  under  the  shadow  of  monar- 
chical patronage  ;:}:  and  is  one  part  of  the  tribute,  which  the 
Church  has  had  to  pay,  for  the  misnamed  privilege  of 
allowing  the  State  to  call  her  after  its  own  name,  and  re- 
ceive her  nominally  under  its  protection,  ])ut  really  under 
its  domination.  If  the  Church  were  set  free,  to-morrow, 
from  all  civil  control  pnd  interference,  the  doom  of  Popery 
would  speedily  be  written.  "  The  holy  text  of  pike  and 
gun"  now  furnishes  its  strongest  arguments  ;  and  "infallible 
artillery"  is  its  surest  peacemaker. 

Take  then,  my  brethren,  such  a  standard  to  settle  dis- 
putes about  the  Bible's  meaning,  as  that  commended  to 
you  in  the  Prayer  Book,  Articles,  and  Homilies,  the  Prim- 
itive Church  "  most  incorrupt  and  pure  ;"  and  let  that  be 
vour  rock,  while  the  surges  of  sectarian  controversv  are 
beating  about  you,  and  against  you.  And,  with  all  his 
ease,  and  all  his  comfort,  will  you  do  this,  if  the  temper 
which  prevailed  in  Paul's  bosom,  wdien  he  had  ceased  to 
listen  to  the  dictates  of  private  judgment,  and  sought 
wiser  counsel,  prevail  in  yours.  "Lord,"  said  the  new 
convert,  when  he  gave  up  thinking  within  himself  as  a 
guide,  "  Lord,  what  wilt  thou  have  me  to  do  ?"     True  piety 

•Wisdom,  vii.26.  fSocrateB.  Book.  ii.  ch.  18.    tUomilies.  cdit.1817.  London.p.  19S 


20 

is  not  a  boisterous  and  self-willed  assertion  of  our  own 
rights,  the  certainty  of  oiir  own  judgments,  and  a  reckless 
discardance  of  all  authority  in  spiritual  matters.  Ecclesi- 
Astical  despotism,  and  Pharisaism,  and  heresy,  and  Deism, 
can  stand  by  themselves,  and  be  satisfied  with  their  own 
selves,  perpetually.  But  genuine  piety  is  humble,  diffi- 
dent, clinging,  relying,  reverential,  anxious  not  for  dis- 
tinction or  self-gratification,  but  for  obedience.  Where,  it 
says,  are  the  old  paths,  in  which  they  whom  the  world 
knew  not,  nay  whom  it  hated,  the  paths  in  which  they 
walked,  where  I  may  find  refuge  for  my  longing  soul? 
( 'arry  me  back  to  the  days  of  the  earliest  followers  of  Christ, 
let  me  see  how  they  thought,  and  felt,  and  acted,  and  I 
may  obtain  light  and  peace.  I  am  weary  with  the  din  of 
«ects  ;  this  perpetual  arrogance  of  infallibility,  I  am  of  Paul, 
and  I  of  Apollos,  and  I  of  Cephas,  and  I  of  Christ.  The 
Bible,  in  modern  hands,  means  every  thing  or  nothing. 
Let  me  have  its  meaning,  as  the  Primitive  Church  possess- 
ed it,   and  I  will  content  myself  and  be  at  rest.* 

Thus  may  God  help  you  to  discover  your  Master's  will 
and  to  do  it  perpetually  for  your  everlasting  joy.  And 
getting  out  with  such  a  scheme  ;  discarding  Popery  on  the 
one  hand,  and  sectarianism  on  the  other,  as  the  manufac- 
tures of  men ;  relying  on  the  Church,  as  she  was  in  her 
earliest  and  best  days,  for  your  model  and  guide,  my  faith 
is  all-confiding,  that  if,  under  God,  the  truth  as  it  is  in 
Jesus  without  mixture  is  any  where  to  be  found,  it  will 
greet  your  eyes — naj''  bless  and  gladden  them,  to  your 
latest  days.  And,  then,  when  the  light  of  the  Church 
below  shall  cease  to  shine  on  you,  the  light  of  the  Church 
above  shall  be  exchanged  for  it.  No  more  shall  your  sun 
go  down,  or  your  moon  withdraw  itself ;  for  the  Lord  shall 
be  your  everlasting  light,  and  the  days  of  your  mourning 
Bhall  be  ended. 

•"  To  understand  the  Holy    Scriptures  aright,"  says  the  eminently  devout  Bp. 
Wilson,"  id  to  understand  them  as  the  Primitive  Church  did." — Wilson's  Hks.ii. 

ten. 


APPENDIX. 


Note  A.  for  p  7. — The  miiidlo  character  of  the  Ch.  ol'  iOiig. 
has  been  acknowledged  by  those  outside  of  her. 

"  We  never  doubted    that  the  Ch.  of  Eng.  was  widely  dinbreiii 
from  the  Ch.  of  Homo  ;  we  own  she  is  freed  from  innumerable  Ro- 
mish superstitions,  and  we  Iiless  God  for  it." — Pcirces   Vmdicai  .of 
Dissenters,  p.  299 

Peirce  then  goes  on  to  say,  (as  we  might  expect,)  that  too  much 
of  the  old  leaven  is  left.  IJut,  for  all  that,  here  is  a  clear  admis- 
sion of  iNMJMKUAiJi.E  refomuuions. 

Says  Mosheim,  the  Lutheran,  "  Thus  was  that  form  of  religion 
established  in  Britain,  which  separated  itie  English,  eipialiy  Irom 
the  Ch.  of  Home  on  the  one  hand,  and  from  the  other  churches 
which  had  renounced  Popery  on  the  other." — Institutes,  Cf-.nt. 
xvi.  Sect.  in.  Part  it.  |^17  ;  or  col.  iv.  p  37S,  ^laclaine's 
Translatioii. 

The  foUowino  is  the  testimony  of  the  celebrated  Isaac  Casaubon. 
(a  layman  too,)  who  visited  England  in  the  reign  of  James  I. — 
"  Mr  Casaubon,  in  his  epistles,  admires  and  recommends  the 
temper  of  our  church,  to  his  brethren  beyond  seas,  as  the  tfCvOsfffxOf 
of  purity  and  antiquity,  which  was  not  else  to  be  found,  any 
where."— Todd's  Life  of  Bp.  Walton.      1.259. 

Not  dissimilar  was  the  testimony  of  the  great  Duke  of  Sidly. 
when  he  visited  England  also. — Quart.  Ilcv,  x.  94. 

Note  B.  p.  7. — Nam  fides  catliolica  docet  omncm  virtulem  esse 
bonam,  omnem  vitium  esse  malum  :  si  autem  Papa  erraret  praeci- 
piendo  vitia,  vel  prohihendo  virtutes,  teneretur  ecclesia  credere 
vitia  esse  bona,  et  virtutes  malas,  nisi  vellct  contra  couscientiain 
peccare. — Bcllarmine  dc  Rom.  Pont. —  Op.  Lut.Par.  torn.  i.  col.SOi. 
To  say,  as  is  sometimes  said,  that  Bcllarmine  qualified  this  after- 
wards, by  applying  it  to  doubtful  cases  only,  does    not   mend   the 


22 

matter.  Who  is  to  say  what  the  doubtful  cases  are  ?  Why,  oi" 
course,  the  Tope ;  so  that  he  has  the  whole  game  in  his  own 
hands  still. 

NoTK  C  p.  8.  -  The  declaration  of  Rome  about  the  obligation  of  a 
present  faith  alone  of  the  Church,  is  precisely  the  ground  which 
John  Robinson  took,  in  his  farewell  address  to  the  Plymouth  Pil- 
grims at  Leyden  ;  and  which  was  taken  also  by  the  Independents, 
when  they  broke  off  from  the  Westminster  Assembly,  in  1B43. 
So  that  here  the  Romish  theory  and  the  private  judgment  theory, 
when  acted  out,  come  to  the  same  conclusion,  i.  e.  present  faith, 
and  that  only.  Robinson,  in  his  "  Parting  Advice"  to  his  follow- 
ers, tlius  blames  both  Lutherans  and  Calvini.sts.  for  aliiding  bj-  a 
present  creed,  as  obligatory  for  the  future.  '•  As,  for  example, 
the  Lutherans,  they  could  not  be  drawn  to  go  beyond  what  Luthf^r 
saw;  for  whatever  part  of  God's  will  he  had  further  imparted  and 
revealed  to  Calvin,  they  will  rather  die  than  embrace  it  And  so 
also,  saith  he,  you  see  the  Calvinisis  stick  where  he  left  ihem  ;  a 
misery  much  to  be  lamented''  Robinson's  own  creed  was  that  of 
the  Development  men  of  our  day,  (whether  in,  or  out  of,  the  Ch.  of 
Rome  ;)  for  '•  he  was  very  confident,  the  Lord  had  more  truth 
and  light  to  break  forth  out  of  his  holy  V^ oxA.'"  —  Rubinsoris  Wks. 
Vol.  i.   p.  xlio.    edit.   1S51. 

True  to  this  Platform,  the  Independents,  when  they  issued  their 
"  Apoligeticall  Narration"  in  1843,  carefully  avowed  their 
present  notions,  as  the  only  truth  to  them.  "A  second  principle 
we  carried  along  with  us,  in  all  our  resolutions,  was,  not  to  make 
our  present  judgment  and  practice,  a  binding  law  un'o  ourselves  for 
the  future." — Edward.s^s  Antapologia  ;  or  reply  to  the.  Narration. 
Loud.  1644.  p.  85  Edwards  was  an  old  fashioned  Presbyterian; 
the  same  who  wrote  the  celebrated  Gangracna. 

Thus  we  see,  that  Popery  and  Independency  meet  in  the  same 
conclusion,  a  present  church;  in  other  words,  both  embrace 
the  fashionable  theory  of  Development  .  If  Pope  Pius  JX, 
adopt  the  Immaculate  Conception  into  his  creed,  he  will  be 
right,  according  to  the  principles  of  the  "  Apologeticall  Narration," 
which  is  the  Magna  Charta  of  Independency. 

Note  D.  p.  8. — This  exception  is  no  more  than  Waterland  allows, 
in  his  invaluable  Chapter  on  the  "  Use  and  Value  of  Ecclesiastical 
Antiquity."  He  says,  "  the  stress  is  not  laid  upon  any  critical  acu- 
men of  the  Fathers  in  interpreting  every  particular  text  ;  but  upon 
their  faithfulness  in  relating  what  was  the  doctrine  of  the  church, 
as  to  the  prime  things,  in  their  times,  or  before  ;  and  upon  their 
interpretation  of  some  remarkable  and  leading  texts,  (such  as  John, 
i.  1.,)  upon  which,  chiefly,  the  fundamental  doctrines  were  con- 
ceived to  rest." —  Waterland' s    Wks.   2d  ed.  Hi.  650. 


23 

Note  E  p.  9.  It  seems  unaccoiinlably  strange,  that  it  should 
he  ihe  impiessioi,  of  many,  tliat  the  Primitive  (Church  wai  not 
careful  lo  maintain  a  record  of  Episcojjal  successioiiH.  Why, 
Eusobius  tells  us  he  devoted  seven  books  of  his  Ecclesias- 
tical History  to  that  very  subject.  Sec  the  preface  to  liis 
eighth  bt)ok,  the  opening  of  his  first  book,  and  the  close  of  the 
setienfh.  Surely,  an  apostolic  succession  was  not  lightly  esteem- 
ed in  primitive  times,  how  much  soever  of  a  novelty  and  mon.>-trosity 
some  pronounce  it  now. 

Note  F.  p.  14. — Nulli  ergo  omnino  honiirmm  iiccal  Imnc  [)aginam 
nostrae,  damnalionis,  reprobalionis,  d('finitionis,  inhibitionis, 
decreti,  ordinationis,  statuti,  et  mandati  infrinsjcre,  vei  ei  ausu, 
femerario  contraire  — Curie    Luff  ran    K  siih.    Jjpon.    X.  Sess  riii. 

This  is  strong  enough,  probably,  as  a  threat  against  all  acts 
contrary  to  Home.  Now  for  an  authority  ti>  extinguish  the  bare 
(Jouhfcr  of  Rome's  infallibility.  It  is  from  Azorius,  a  celebrated 
Spanish  Jesuit  of  the  l()lh  century,  who  wrote  folios  upon  morals. 
"  Si  quern  in  foro  cxteriori  legitime  allegata  et  probata  probaverint 
in  rebus  Fidei.  scienter  et  voluntarie  du!)itasse,  arbitror  cum,  ut 
vi«re  et  proprie,  hacreticum  puniendum.'' — Turn.  I.  Moral  iJh.  vin. 
ch.  9.  Quoted  in  Hacket's  .Abp.  Williams.  Ft.  i.  p.  303,  No. 
2  ;    as  p  303  is  repeated  twice 

NoTR  O  p.l/>.  I  alluded  to  such  a  denunciatdry  exercise  of  pi  ivafe 
judgment,  as  was  once  attempted  by  a  British  1  louse  of  Commons; 
when  it  erected  itself  into  a  tribunal  to  e>tablish  Calvinism. 

"  We,  the  Commons  in  Parliament  assemlded,  do  claim,  and 
protest,  and  *vi)w  for  truth,  the  sense  of  the  Articles  of  Religion, 
winch  were  establislu-d  by  Parliament,  in  the  13th  year  of  our 
late  Queen  Elizabeth,  which,  by  the  public  act  of  the  Cli.  of  Eng- 
land, and  by  the  general  and  current  exposition  of  the  wr  tcrsof  our 
church,  have  been  delivered  unto  us.  And  we  reject  ilu;  sense  of 
the  Jesuits,  and  Arminians,  and  all  otheus.  wherein  they  difler 
iVom  us." — Rushiv(>rt)i\s    CoUectious.     i    G49,  50. 

So  they  rejected  all  ('hristendom,  and  the  world  beside,  if  they 
presumed  to  difler  from  themselves.  They  set  themselves  up  for  the 
only  "  standing  order  ;"  as  the  old  phrase  was  in  the  colonial  days 
of  New  England.  I  leave  it  to  my  readers  to  say,  wlicther  they 
had  after  them  'a  regular  succession." 
\ 

Note  H.  p.  16.  I  add  a  (ew  words  respecting  Galileo  ;  for  many 
are  not  aware  that  he  is  no  longer  a  heretic  in  the  view  of  Kome. 
Very  few,  probably,  ol  the  (Tinstian  public  in  this  coimtry,  are 
aware  how  he  ceased  from  being  a  heretic.  The  story  is  told  by 
Mr.  Mendham   in   his  work  on  the  Index  of  Gregory  .\\  1.,  and  it 


24 

adii)irubly  illustrates  Rome's  way  of  doing  business  She  puts  every 
body  else  in  the  wrong;  but  when  confessedly  in  the  wrong  herself, 
never  acknowledges  an  error,  but  gets  out  of  a  false  position  bv 
stealth.  But  here  is  Mr.  Mendham  to  speak  for  himself.  "In  the 
Honian  Inde.K  of  1704,  we  read  the  general  condemnation: — Lihn 
ornnes  dhccntcs  mohilitatem  Terrce  et  immobUifatan  Solis.  Not  a 
vestige  of  any  of  these  decisive  proscriptions  is  jwio  to  be  found  in 
any  Roman  Index.  The  name  of  the  persecuted  and  rondenmed 
reviver  of  a  doctrine  now  universally  received,  with  that  of  his 
Diatogo,  kept  their  place  to  the  last,  and  were  only  silently  and  fur- 
tively withdrawn,  in  the  year  18.35.  In  all  the  preceding  Indexes, 
the  condemnation,  not  of  the  man,  but  of  the  doctrink,  stands  an 
imperishable  monument  of  the  ignorance,  bigotry,  and  intolerance 
of  the  Roman  Church."  p.  IS  The  question  is  often  asked  wheth- 
er Copernicanism  is  still  heresy  at  Rome  ;  and  whether  she  still 
presumes  to  dictate  about  philosophy,  as  well  as  theology,  to  the 
world  at  large.  To  such  a  question  the  above  is  a  curious  and  in- 
structive answer.  Rome  is  fallible,  at  last,  by  her  own  concession  ; 
vet  the  acknowledgment  is  made  with  not  a  particle  of  manliness, 
but  after  the  manner  of  a  sneak  I 


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